


Ripper:  Fools Journey 0 - Before You

by beccaelizabeth



Series: Ripper:  Fools Journey [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-02
Updated: 2005-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccaelizabeth/pseuds/beccaelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rupert Giles, Head of the Watchers Council, and ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Post Chosen, post Not Fade Away. Deals with the fallout.  
> Written before the comics, ignores them. They Jossed it, so technically AU now.
> 
> Disclaimer: [Joss told us to "Write fan fic."](http://beccaelizabeth.livejournal.com/725697.html)  
> So they're still his toys, but he seems to not mind us playing with them.  
> No money, no harm.
> 
> Thanks to [**pinkdormouse**](http://pinkdormouse.livejournal.com/profile) for beta.
> 
>  
> 
> Once upon a time, there was to be a series called Ripper.   
> It would star Giles, and it would be about ghosts.  
> Well, I'm still waiting.  
> In the meantime, I figured I'd write it myself.  
> Since ghosts are a central feature, character death is going to happen throughout the series. But that doesn't always remove them from the story. So sometimes the warning is character death, and sometimes it is more character transformation.
> 
> This episode is 0 because it is the setup, a transitional episode getting all the characters in the right place. Also because I used Tarot cards as inspiration for the 22 episodes, hence 'Fools Journey'. The Fool is card 0.

The Long Hall was not the most direct route to Rupert's office, but it was the one he took the most. He got the driver to drop him off at the service entrance and cut across the grass, nodding to the Slayer on duty as he went, then used one of the glassed in arches to get into the main building. This morning the sun shone straight onto the Wall, and the gold names burned bright against the dark wood panels.

Almost every day Giles walked along here, reading the names of Slayers. Names and dates. Only one date for every girl – the year they were Chosen, since that was the year the old Council started taking notice of them. And no date of death. When one Slayer died the next was Chosen. On to the next name.

Giles remained aware of the spaces between them, and how very short most were. All these girls, going back a thousand years, and still the Wall wasn't finished. Even filled it wouldn't list them all. Couldn't, no matter the length of the hall. The first Slayer had no Watcher, and no one knew when she was Chosen.

But the walk to his office took him forwards, from around Agatha the Slayer of 836 all the way to 1996 and the names he always paused to read despite knowing them so well – Buffy Summers, Kendra, Faith. And then the last entry in this the history of the old era:

Not waiting to be Chosen,   
all Slayers make the Choice  
2003

The optimism and courage in that was something he tried to carry through the day with him.

He climbed the stairs briskly, ever aware that this might constitute all the exercise he got in a day. Other denizens of Headquarters tended to use the lifts. Given that most of them were at least a decade older than Giles it was for many a necessity, a state Giles intended to avoid for as long as possible.

They also signed in formally at the front desk, following the official procedure. But arriving without fanfare gave Rupert the best chance of getting to his office before the cares of the day descended on him.

"Mr Giles!"

Or at least the same floor as his office. Giles ducked his head slightly and kept going.

"Rupert Giles!"

The voice sounded distantly familiar – known, but not expected here. Someone from the past perhaps?

"Ripper! Wait up!"

That brought him up sharply. Not a name he expected to hear in these halls. He pulled his hand out his pocket as he turned around, and tested the heft on his briefcase.

He didn't recognise the man hurrying towards him until he looked past the scars, and the years. Out of the past indeed – he hadn't seen him since they were 18. He kept his face neutral and held out his hand.

The other man took it and shook effusively. Giles started to grin.

"Ripper Giles! It's been forever!"

"A lifetime, almost. Good to see you, Edgar."

"Please, call me Ed. I haven't used Edgar since I went back down under. Don't suppose you still go by Ripper yourself."

"Not formally, no."

"Reckon it would look a bit strange on the letterhead. 'Head of the Watchers Council – Ripper'. Mind you, you are still the big noise around here."

Giles winced ever so slightly and replied "I'd like to think the job amounts to a bit more than, ah, hot air and making a stink."

"Of course, of course. Signing my paycheck, for example. Crucial bit of work there." Edgar winked, and Giles let his smile go just a little frosty.

Edgar changed tack almost smoothly. "So, you're the man in the know now – how are the others? Watcher Academy class of '72. What are they up to now?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." Giles lost the smile entirely, and reached absently for his glasses before he noticed and put both hands on the briefcase instead. "I'm sorry, but after the Horror... well, very few of us survived, and none unscathed." Then he looked away, aware how that sounded coming from him, talking to a man so visibly marked.

"What, these?" Ed brought his bad hand up between them, the scars twisting his remaining fingers into claws. He couldn't raise it very far, or hold it up long. "No worries, mate. My Slayer got out, and that's what matters. I'm good. You came out alright, of course, and good thing too, or we wouldn't have anyone left those Slayers would listen to. And I just saw Fairfax in the hall, so he's fine." He saw the way Rupert's face fell. "Isn't he?"

Giles sighed. "You saw him, but did you shake his hand?"

Edgar paused, losing his good cheer. "You mean... the First Evil? Still?"

"Probably not, unless it moved from the horrific to the vaguely disquieting. No, we think it's simply that some people don't let a little thing like death keep them from their work." Giles smiled bitterly, the joke become habit around the HQ.

Edgar looked lost, and then grim. "So, Fairfax, dead. And I heard about Parnet. The rest?"

"From our class... aside from us two, there's Anderson. We got him the best standard of care we could. Twenty-four hours a day." Giles gave Edgar a moment, then tried to explain. "I'm sorry. But most of us – we were assigned potential Slayers, you see. Usually years ago. I was the last... So when the First tried to wipe out the line..."

"We were their last line of defence. And we failed."

"Some of us." Giles agreed. "But some got them to Sunnydale, or just away. They died... like a Watcher should."

"A Watcher shouldn't die, Giles." Edgar quietly disagreed. "We didn't expect a quiet life, sure, but we expected to retire. Like our fathers, and their fathers before them." He closed his eyes and asked, "Their families... did they..?"

"It varies," Giles replied gently. "A lot of them were gone already, or at school. The First ignored the Academy, thank God. Just dealt with... the immediate threats. The rest... I'm afraid you'll find that everyone here, all the Watchers, lost somebody. Family or friends. Somebody."

Edgar nodded slowly, then opened his eyes again and put a polite smile on. "Well. I knew it was bad. The Australian branch lost a lot of people too. I just... didn't realise we'd got off light."

"It wasn't light for any of us. We all did our part." Giles tried to reassure, but it came out rather flat. Too many times through the same conversation, trying to pull the Council back together.

Behind Edgar someone stepped into the corridor, carrying a stack of files. His face lit up when he saw the Council Head and he started to hurry over.

Giles stepped back and said to Edgar, "We should talk more. See my secretary, get her to pencil you in for lunch before you leave. I'm sorry, schedules you know, I have to..."

Edgar glanced over his shoulder and saw the incoming bureaucracy. He nodded, "Of course, of course." Then with just the slightest smirk he turned around to face the other man. "Excuse me, have we met? I'm Ed..."

While the other man was diverted Giles made his escape.

He used the private door to his office and sat down with a sigh, pausing a moment to enjoy the last of the silence. Then he put his briefcase on the desk, unsnapped the clasps, and pulled out the files from yesterday. He flicked on the intercom. "Ms Wayland?"

"Yes, Mr Giles. I have your morning schedule waiting, and an early appointment here hoping you can squeeze them in."

"Of course. Yes, bring the schedule through." He reached for the switch again and paused. "Oh, and Harriet? Have the Wards &amp; Cleansing team move us up on the rotation."

"Ghosts again?"

Giles sighed. "Ghosts."


	2. Chapter 2

Ms Wayland, with her usual efficiency, brought the schedule and the morning briefing in with his first cup of tea. She slipped in the door quickly, shutting out the voices of the people already waiting in her office. She handed him the papers and waited for him to flip over the page and take his first sip before she offered any comment.

"Most of the day is as we arranged it yesterday, but I had to take a little of your lunch hour for our ranking man in the Metropolitan Police."

"Again?"

"I'm sorry, sir. There was another murder. They're getting quite agitated."

"I suppose they have cause. Alright."

"The Academy Headmaster asked for another meeting."

Giles winced.

"I scheduled it for a month next Tuesday." Ms Wayland reassured him with a slight smile.

"Thank you, Harriet. That seems quite appropriate. After all we went through to get the Slayers to agree their school rules I do not need him weighing in again with another lecture on how things should be done."

"All these American ideas," Ms Wayland began sententiously.

"We do things differently here," she and Giles finished together, then grinned.

"Leave the appointment where it is, and if he gets too obstreperous, well, I'm sure there might be something more urgent that comes up at the last minute."

"Understood, sir," Ms Wayland agreed, ticking something off on her list. "There's also the matter of the people waiting without an appointment."

"Could they not wait until they had one?"

"It is a Watcher and two Slayers, just in off patrol. They've stayed up quite late to meet you. And they're getting somewhat agitated."

"One of the field supervisors? Some new threat?"

"No sir, just a standard local team. The Slayer in question is having some difficulty with her Watcher. And vice versa."

"Then she should report to her supervisor. The chain of command exists for a reason. If every Slayer with an opinion could bypass their assigned Watcher the whole system would fall apart."

"Yes sir. But most Slayers weren't with you at the Battle of Sunnydale."

"Oh. One of the, ah, veterans."

"A Slayer Vi, with her partner Slayer Fiona, and Watcher Mrs Rafferty. I have the file here." Ms Wayland passed it over, and again paused to let him skim through it. "The veterans – the other girls look up to them. The older two especially, of course, but everyone that was there. They are the reason all the rest exist, after all. Other Slayers follow their lead."

"Which is exactly why they, of all people, should follow the rules." Giles sighed, reading the list of disciplinary complaints Mrs Rafferty had filed in the few months they'd been working together. "And why I'll have to explain that to her. Now. I'll try and be quick. Don't reschedule anyone if you can help it."

"Very good sir. I'll send them right in," Ms Wayland said, and left to match action to words.

The first one through the door was Vi, who stalked in looking like a thundercloud and immediately took a seat in front of his desk. Another girl, presumably Fiona, slipped into the room and stood by the door, in an approximation of parade rest. She tried to look neutral, but her eyes darted everywhere, skipping over Giles and back again. Last was an older woman, about Rupert's age, leaning on a stick and walking steadily but at no great speed. She walked up to the desk, planted her stick in front of her, and extended her hand.

"Watcher Amelia Rafferty," she introduced herself.

"Rupert Giles," he said, from habit, taking her hand. He forgot to add the title. It still seemed odd referring to himself that way.

The handshake was firm but brief, and she leaned on the stick with both hands as soon as they were done.

"Please, have a seat," Giles said, and turned to the Slayer as the Watcher lowered herself into a chair. "Vi." He held out his hand, trying to remember if he'd ever learned her last name.

"Giles," Vi replied, sitting with arms crossed.

Mrs Rafferty glared at her briefly, then flicked out her stick to tap Vi on the leg. "She is corporeal, **Mr** Giles, merely ill mannered."

Vi rolled her eyes, leaned forwards and grabbed his hand, then sat back and crossed her arms again.

"Yes, well... I hear you wanted to see me, Vi."

"I had to. This whole thing is getting really ridiculous, and the man she works for is being no help at all. You know she's threatening me with some 'hearings' now? Like she's putting me on trial! You were with us in Sunnydale, you know me, and you're in charge around here. You can sort this out, and I can go back on patrol. What kind of sense does it make to suspend a Slayer anyway?"

Giles turned to Mrs Rafferty. "This matter has led to a suspension?"

"Not formally, no. I simply requested that Vi not go out hunting without me. Which she agreed to. In fact she specifically assured me she would not go out last night."

Giles said, "Ms Wayland was under the impression you had all just come in off patrol. Was she mistaken, or..?"

"I went anyway." Vi shrugged. "Big deal. I had to get her off my back somehow. She's completely unreasonable! Every time we go out she keeps trying to give us orders."

"As though she were your assigned Watcher?" Giles asked dryly.

"As if we didn't know how to do our jobs! We've been doing this every week for _years_ Giles, we know what we're supposed to do!"

"Mrs Rafferty, does your Slayer carry out her duties effectively?"

"Vampires are slain. She seems to believe this is sufficient."

"It is what we do." Vi said.

"Poor technique. Prioritizing, sub-par. You telegraph punches, leave blind sides open and take entirely too much time. Execution is adequate, if a bit bloody for my tastes," Rafferty replied.

"I get the job done. Giles, we're Slayers. This is what we're built for. We have the instincts we need for this."

"It is a Watcher's job to **hone** those instincts. Yet Vi refuses to even work on the basics. She has no respect for the lessons I can impart."

"Throwing balls blindfold and studying vibratory stones? Please."

"The blindfold is necessary to test your awareness in conditions of complete darkness," the Watcher explained.

Vi shook her head, frustrated.

Giles intervened. "Mrs Rafferty, Vi... I understand. I had very similar conversations with my Slayer, in the early days. It can take some time to adjust to a routine, or to find out precisely how much a Slayer already knows. But there is a good reason that a part of each day is set aside for training..."

"A part? Try all day, every day," Vi interrupted.

"That only seems to be the case because there are always lessons waiting for you. They would be done with quickly if you would only attend them," Mrs Rafferty corrected her. "Really, Viola, I make allowances for your youth, but I expect a certain amount of responsibility. Lives depend upon you!"

Giles interrupted the impending lecture. "I'm sorry, but just to be clear – this is why you requested Vi should not patrol?"

"Yes!" Mrs Rafferty replied.

"No!" Vi answered at the same moment. "Giles..."

Giles held out a hand to stop Vi and addressed the Watcher. "Please, explain?"

"Vi believes herself competent to handle a routine patrol. And I agree, up to a point. We both know how quickly a patrol can lead to situations that are anything but routine." She leaned forwards and tapped her hand on her stick's handle to emphasise her point. "I push these girls hard because I know what they have to face. If Vi has to find out first hand I am very much afraid she will not survive the night. Since she won't pay the proper attention to her studies, I must accompany her, to give her the benefit of my experience." She sat back and nodded decisively, keeping eye contact with Giles.

He nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to the Slayer. "Vi, you believe otherwise?"

"Yeah. The only reason she keeps coming out with us is she can't get over the fact she was too old to get the power when we were all Chosen."

There was a moment of absolute silence after that. Giles glanced at Mrs Rafferty. She was leaning on her stick as if to drive it through the carpet, and her lips were pressed so tight they were white. She took a deep breath and brought her head up high.

"I know that is Viola's interpretation of the matter. It is untrue. I have served a lifetime..."

"You married a Watcher and raised kids!"

"I have **served** a lifetime, raising three girls, none of whom were actually Chosen. Two went on to become Watchers. My own children attended the Watcher Academy. I have always believed that there are ways to be of value in this fight without super strength or killer instinct, and I am more sure of that than ever. My reasons for requesting Vi stay off the streets are precisely as stated, and no more."

Giles nodded again. "Watcher Rafferty, of course the work you do is very valuable. I would never say otherwise. I simply wish to understand how Vi sees this situation. Now Vi, I can understand a preference for field work over study, but why exactly do you not wish your Watcher to patrol with you?"

"**With** us wouldn't be so much of a problem. But she's always behind us. A long way behind. You can see the stick, it isn't just for hitting people with. We've got all this super speed, but we can't use it. And if we get into a fight she's just one more thing to worry about."

Mrs Rafferty looked down at her stick, then carefully picked it up and laid it sideways across her lap. She looked Giles in the eyes again. "Slayers should patrol at walking pace, in order to remain concealed and stalk their prey. If they need to give chase, I have never insisted that they wait for me, simply that they remain cautious. I have studied the martial arts since I was five years old, and I believe I am not yet a liability. If I am in fact unable to carry out my duties, I shall of course retire. But until then I shall do my best by my Slayers."

Now came the part of his job Giles liked least. It was entirely possible that retirement would be best for her, in an ideal world. Many of the Watchers now supervising Slayers had in fact retired once, before the Horror. But these days there were many more Slayers than trained Watchers, and they were left trying to adjust working practices to compensate. So Giles had to, very politely, suggest alternatives. Even though that might further undermine the authority the Slayers already paid so little heed.

"Your devotion to your Slayers is not in question, and neither is your competence," Giles assured her. "But Slayers can be very hard to keep up with. I remember times after training when I was very glad for a sit down. And some analgesics." Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, his younger, fitter replacement, had similar problems too. But mentioning the man who was fired for failure to control his Slayer would not be helpful to the current discussion. "As Buffy's Watcher I did patrol with her sometimes, more so in the early days. But after we'd been working together for some time we patrolled together far less frequently. I found she could always come to me with anything unusual, and make a full report once the patrol was over."

Mrs Rafferty replied, "I have found that on nights she patrols alone I can unfortunately write Vi's 'full report' myself, in advance. It is always the same. I ask her to report, and she says 'You know, the usual. Went out, staked vampires, saved the world.' If she's working with Fiona I at least get numbers, and sometimes even a location."

Giles looked over at the girl by the door. "Slayer Fiona?"

She jumped, brought a hand up in a half wave, then changed her mind and moved forwards to the desk. "Yes, sir. I'm..." she stuck her hand out abruptly, then pulled it back as if unsure of her welcome. "I'm Fiona. Atwood." Giles took her hand gently and smiled. She hesitantly smiled back, then bit her lip and put her hands behind her back. "I'm a Slayer. Just recently. I mean, since everyone was, but I just got here... a couple months ago."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Atwood. Perhaps you have a fresh perspective then. What would you say about the way we work?"

Fiona looked rather like a deer in the headlights. She glanced over at Vi, then at Mrs Rafferty, back to Giles, then down to stare at his desk. Giles looked down too, then flipped Vi's folder closed. Fiona looked up guiltily, then ended up staring at something over his left shoulder. She only hesitated a moment, then began to speak.

"A couple of weeks ago, on one of those hot nights in the middle of August, we were out on patrol, and Mrs Rafferty was with us. And we found something. Not a vampire. It was about the size of a transit van, and green, and dripping something. Vi grabbed her stake and would have gone right in. But our Watcher called out that it was acid. The dripping. We couldn't get that close, we'd burn. And it didn't have a heart anyway, so I didn't know where to aim. But she gave us the sword from her swordstick, and we put it through the thing's eye, right up into the brain. The sword went all wonky, kind of floppy even, and then it fell right off the handle. And I thought, if we'd been alone out there, that would be Vi. Her arm would have done that. And we wouldn't even have killed it. So... So I think she was right. Mrs Rafferty I mean. I think we need a Watcher." She paused, and then forged ahead. "But the other thing is, it was me that stabbed it, but only because Vi was busy getting Mrs Rafferty out of the way. I mean it charged at us, and I jumped out of the way, but Vi saw Mrs Rafferty wouldn't make it. So she grabbed her and got her away. And I was left with the sword, and I stabbed it, while it was busy chasing after her. So Vi is kind of right too."

"I don't believe that action was necessary," Mrs Rafferty corrected stiffly. "If we had simply stood our ground we could have killed it before it got to me."

Fiona looked Mr Giles in the eye again, then shook her head, ever so slightly. He nodded just as slightly in return.

"Perhaps an alternative is needed."

"Cellphones," Slayer Atwood offered.

"Cell phones?" Mrs Rafferty queried.

Fiona took a step back so she could face her and Giles. "I was going to say – but then Vi wanted to come here, and everyone was busy... Well, I've got a cellphone. Vi could get one. If we always take them with us, well, that's just like having you there to talk to us. I can only talk on mine, but if we got an upgrade we could send pictures of things, or a video if you need it. We could even get one of those hands free sets, and stay online all night, if you want."

"Could we? Really." Mrs Rafferty looked across at Mr Giles. "Modern technology. I'm afraid my expertise ends with the printing press. It would never have occurred to me – I mean you can't rely on finding a phone booth conveniently, and I had no idea..."

"Vi? Would that work for you?"

Vi still looked put out, but shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, I guess. Why not? That could work."

Mrs Rafferty didn't look terribly reassured, but Giles was fairly sure that was the best they were going to get.

"Well, it looks like you've solved this without me. Wonderful." He hoped he'd kept any trace of sarcasm out of his voice. "Slayer Atwood, it was a pleasure to meet you. Watcher Rafferty, likewise. Vi, I'm glad we could sort this out. But perhaps next time you could bear in mind that I am a very busy man, and that there are established procedures for such things? Alright? Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there are people waiting."

Fiona fairly scurried for the door, then held it open waiting for the other two. Vi looked at Giles for a moment with her mouth open, then snapped it shut and stalked out. Mrs Rafferty stood up – not, Giles noted, using her stick, but not quite steady either – and started to walk towards the door.

"Oh, Watcher Rafferty," Giles called. "Could you take this out to Ms Wayland?" He opened Vi's folder and flipped to the back, picked up a pen to make a note. Mrs Rafferty came back to the desk, standing carefully and trying to keep her face neutral. But Giles hadn't called her just to run menial errands. He glanced up at the door, where Fiona was hovering in the outer office, and reckoned her out of earshot. He lowered his voice anyway. "Mrs Rafferty – these charges. You should be aware that a disciplinary committee is usually reserved for cases where the Slayer has harmed an innocent. It should not be used as some kind of threat. Slayers respond to threats quite predictably."

"I understand that, Mr Giles. But," Mrs Rafferty lowered her voice in turn, "part of a Watcher's job is to remain in control of their Slayer. If Vi won't allow me to supervise, I cannot rightly say that she is, well, safe."

"I understand your concerns," Giles replied, Faith with all her complications very much in his mind. "But you must realise, all Watchers are having to cope with similar issues right now. If we try to impose too many restrictions, the Slayers are likely to just walk away. Please, try to work within the new guidelines."

"Yes sir," she replied quietly, then held her hand out for the file.

Giles shook it briskly instead. "Thank you. Take care," he told her, pressing the Slayer file into her hand.

She nodded, then turned and walked out, her stick tapping steadily along beside her.

Once the door closed, Giles sat back and sighed. If Mrs Rafferty did stick to the guidelines, she'd be about the only such Watcher in England. Giles had been fired for ignoring the old, outdated handbook, and far too many of his new subordinates still considered that the right decision. Too many of the rest turned out to have been fired for... other reasons. Frankly any Slayer dispute that didn't involve sexual molestation or misuse of magic was something of a relief these days. But he could hardly tell them that. He was the voice of policy, and policy couldn't be reduced to 'It could be worse'. Not officially, anyway.

The rest of his schedule proceeded in the usual orderly, repetitive way until lunch time. Everyone needed a decision from him, and everyone had to explain at length why things had to be done a certain way. Just like yesterday. And every day since he got this job. Thankfully the last meeting of the morning was with the man from the Armoury, who always came right to the point. When he left Giles walked him to the door, intending to head out for a bite to eat.

"Keep the schedule as it is and buy whatever surplus we need. And look into acquiring more forests." Not an order he'd ever anticipated giving, but what in this job was?

"Forests?" came a surprised voice from the outer office.

"Yes. Coppicing schedule isn't up to the spike in demand," Giles replied absently.

He turned and found the head of Accounts, holding a thick stack of folders and looking very unhappy.

Armoury tried to reassure him. "Think of it as a long-term investment. They'll pay back eventually."

"Yes, I'm sure," Mr Charlesworth replied absently. "Mr Giles, could I have a moment of your time please?"

"Actually I was just..." Giles saw Ms Wayland nod, and changed tack. "Done for the moment, so I'm all yours. Something urgent?"

Mr Charlesworth nodded grimly. "I believe so, sir."

Giles waved him into the office and closed the door behind them. He took a seat behind his desk as Charlesworth placed his folders there.

"So, what have we got here?"

"The quarterly reports for the English regions."

England? Of all the parts of the world the Council was still operating that was the last place he'd expect to have any problems. The local hierarchy here was made up of retired Watchers, supervisory positions filled by those who had retired from Headquarters with full honours. Most of them managed the areas around their own homes, and therefore paid particular attention to detail.

"There were some irregularities in the use of discretionary funds in the last quarter."

Charlesworth handed him a slim folder, and Giles flipped through to the bottom line. And tried to keep his jaw from dropping.

"Fifty thousand dollars? In three months?"

"And that is just the amount spent that was never allocated to that office."

"Just the one office?"

"Yes sir, that of Mr Roger Wyndam-Pryce. If you recall, they were very well staffed."

"If by that you mean that the man employed every Watcher too... traditional to be comfortable with the new guidelines then yes, that office was very well staffed indeed." Traditional, stubborn, hidebound, inflexible... Giles realised what the other keyword was. "You said 'they were'?"

"Once the first irregularities showed up we tried to contact someone who worked on those books for an explanation. We had a great deal of difficulty. Initially we could contact secretarial staff but no one with any authority. Many people we were familiar with appear to be off sick, or possibly on holiday. Some of them seem to have been let go last month, but the paperwork remains incomplete."

"And their salaries are still being paid?"

"I'm afraid so. But the truly strange part, and why I believe this is urgent – when we tried to get in contact today, we got no one. The phones just ring. And the home phone number for Mr Wyndam-Pryce is engaged, and has been for many hours. We think something may have happened to him."

"Like him leaving the country with a substantial chunk of our budget?"

"The locator spells tells us he is still at his house. Sir, we don't believe the matter is solely financial. The facts available are few, but worrying. The money was listed as 'Expenses, Miscellaneous', which doesn't tell us much except that they did not want to tell us anything. It was withdrawn last week in one lump sum, cash, which is what got the account sent to us. And it was drawn in US Dollars, from a bank close to what is left of Los Angeles."

Giles bit back the urge to swear. "The US Army has Los Angeles sealed."

"Yes sir, and the Council is assisting them. Which could become a problem, if someone with sufficient authority wanted to make it so."

"If anything is getting out of that hell pit it is a very large problem. And if it only took fifty thousand..."

"That we traced, sir. It is possible there were other funds diverted to the same cause. Of course we cannot **prove** that the money went to LA. However, that city has been the focus of all documented research from that office since the day the demonic incursion started."

"The day Wesley Wyndam-Pryce died."

"And Wolfram and Hart went down, yes sir." Charlesworth moved the rest of the folders on the desk in front of him, "These contain a full record of our investigation, but our only substantial evidence is as I just informed you. If we are to do anything further, we need your authorisation. It wouldn't be a criminal investigation, of course, we would deal with it in-house, but any further measures would have to be a lot less discreet."

"And would cast a bad light on someone no matter what you found." Giles observed. Of course, Wyndam-Pryce would call it political. And he would have his supporters, no matter what the facts turned out to be. It would leave every Watcher in England choosing sides, trying to take their Slayers along with them. And that could get very messy, very fast.

He looked at the stack of reports, and the anxious man standing in front of his desk, and made a decision.

"Don't worry. I'll take full responsibility." Charlesworth looked relieved, until Giles continued, "I'll talk to him myself." He started to put the files in his briefcase to take with him.

"Sir? I thought... perhaps a team, with Slayers..."

"We cannot start using Slayers to police Watchers."

"I realise it could undermine our authority..."

"We already lack authority. The girls all know we can only do our job with their cooperation. We just give advice based on superior knowledge. No, the real issue is that Watchers are human, and the Slayer has no jurisdiction over humans."

"I realise you don't want Wyndam-Pryce staked, but if anything came out of LA already..."

"Then it would have had a week to do whatever it was planning. We have missing Watchers, reports of illness, and no concrete information. What we need here is investigation." Giles got up and headed for the outer office again.

Ms Wayland was just hanging up the phone. "Still no answer from Wyndam-Pryce, on either office or home numbers. Mrs Wyndam-Pryce has been located. She left for Australia two weeks ago, to stay with cousins there. They say everything is fine, and they have no idea why Roger would be out of contact. She was going to try and arrange a flight home ASAP."

"Try to get her to sit tight, if you can. We're going to emergency plans C and D."

"Contagion and Doppelgänger? Oh dear. How widespread?"

"That is very much the question right now. It could even be a false alarm. But start with the area around the Wyndam-Pryce home and offices, anyone who worked with him since the Los Angeles event, and of course the troops around Los Angeles."

"They're always on high alert, sir, but I'll pass that on."

"Make sure HQ is secure, and keep minimal contact between regions. Hold off on the most disruptive measures until we have more information. I'm going out there myself. I'll need transport and something from Wards to detect tampering."

Ms Wayland was usually unflappable, but she hesitated a moment at that. "Sir. And will you be needing anything for your personal security?"

"Harriet, I realise everyone would rather I stay here. But I have survived many years on the Hellmouth, and retrieving Potentials hunted by the First. I have some relevant experience in these matters. And what if the matter is entirely mundane, and the man simply considers himself above answering for money? I'm the only one in the organization we can hope he would acknowledge as a superior, or at least the designated authority. It has to be me." And of course, these reasons would be entirely sufficient without factoring in how very much he wanted to take on _something_ face to face. Or take the traditionalists down a peg or two. "Now, please."

"Yes sir. The helicopter will be ready by the time you get there."

"Fine. Reschedule my meetings. Except the police, make sure somebody sees them. Reassure them again, we do all we can do. Not that human murders are really our field."

"Ritual murders, sir," she corrected absently, then informed him, "The car is ready at the back gate."

"Very good. If anything else comes up, call me." He checked his phone was in his pocket and headed for the door.

The helicopter ride was swift and uneventful. Also something Giles decided not to duplicate any time soon. Far too much of the thing was made of glass.

The first sign of trouble came when they were descending onto the lawn in front of the Wyndam-Pryce house. There was an increasing heavy feeling, and then a tingling in his extremities. By the time Giles recognised the signs they were almost level with the top of the house, and the pilot's hands were shaking.

"Pull up!" Giles ordered, but the man didn't seem to hear him. "Quickly, up again! The house is protected, magically! If we hit the wards in this thing – can it land itself if you pass out?"

For a moment they continued to sink, until Giles could actually see sparks just under them, but then with a nasty lurch the helicopter responded and shot up again.

"Sorry sir," the pilot said, the headphones turning the man's voice tinny but not masking his fear. "I don't know what... I mean I've never felt..."

"It's alright. Not your fault. Magic doesn't always announce itself," Giles reassured the man, then told him, "Land well outside the grounds. I doubt he has much more than just the house covered, but it wouldn't hurt me to walk a bit further."

The man found space in a field down the road. Quite a long way down the road. Giles had no complaints.

"Wait for me here. Keep in touch with HQ for further instructions."

"Yes sir." The young Watcher nodded, and started checking his machine over for damage.

Giles started walking towards the house.

He saw the Slayers on the gate from a hundred yards away, standing one on each side, stakes in hand and paying attention. He vaguely recognised them, had probably met them once, but right now he couldn't remember their names.

"Mr Giles, sir. Is something wrong?"

Thankfully they had found him a bit more memorable.

"There may be. Report."

The Slayer came to attention and said, "We were assigned to guard this gate by Mr Roger Wyndam-Pryce, our Watcher, at 2300 last night. We have orders not to let anyone in or out, sir!"

"We were expecting replacements a bit before this," the other Slayer added, much less formally. "I don't suppose you brought anyone with you?"

"Nairi!" the first girl hissed, still at attention.

"It's only Mr Giles," Nairi replied. "Hey, do you think we're meant to keep **him** out?"

"I am the Head of the Watchers Council, and Mr Wyndam-Pryce's immediate superior. I also, incidentally, sign your paychecks." And it was interesting which part of that got to which girl. "Now, is that all you know?"

"Yes sir. Sorry sir. Mr Wyndam-Pryce doesn't like it when we ask questions, sir."

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce is supposed to be teaching you," Giles muttered. Then he said, "Apart from that, have you noticed anything unusual?"

"No," replied Nairi.

"Just that light," her partner corrected her. "At midnight, sir. Really bright. But we're not sure where it was from."

Nairi glared at her. Giles decided to ignore this.

"Alright. Your orders stand. No one else goes in, and no one comes out. Until further notice from HQ. And that includes both myself and Mr Wyndam-Pryce."

"Yes sir," they replied together, returning to their vigil.

Giles stepped forwards, up to the gates.

Now to see if he could actually get in.

The gates themselves were tall, wrought iron, and very strong. The wards just beyond them were complex and carefully worked. Getting through them would be a formidable test of skill.

So Giles tried the easy way first. He looked up into the camera and pressed the button for the intercom.

He was about to press it again when it was answered.

"Yes?"

"Rupert Giles, on official business."

There was a short pause, then the gates silently swung open. They closed behind Giles as he walked up the drive to the house.

No one met him at the door, so after a short wait he rang the doorbell. And kept ringing, until eventually the door began to open.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce stood just within, looking crumpled and apparently using the door for support.

That was such a contrast to his usual demeanour that Giles spoke without thinking. "Roger! You look like death warmed over!"

Wyndam-Pryce scowled and drew himself up, then stepped deliberately into the sunlight. He only winced a little.

"I'm perfectly all right. Just... a little worn down. I **was** sleeping. Whatever was so urgent you couldn't just phone me?"

"Your phone has been engaged all day. Your wife is worried."

"My wife... called out the Council on me?" Roger blinked incredulously.

"No, no. We called her. We've been trying to contact you." Giles paused, then asked him, "Can I come in?"

Roger stepped out of the way and pushed the door open, and Giles stepped past him. The careful dance of Watcher families. Even in daylight the habit remained.

"Come into the study," Roger said. "Official business, you said? Something important?"

"Yes." He had the files ready in his briefcase. He had to push a long dagger and a stake out of the way to reach them. "The Head of Accounts came to me about a rather serious problem with your finances."

"Money? This is important enough for the Head of the Council? Really, Giles, we used to have a little more dignity."

"We used to have a lot more money," Giles muttered. He told Wyndam-Pryce, "The problem is the amount, and the possible uses for it. Tell me, what did you get for fifty thousand dollars, from Los Angeles?"

From behind him in the doorway, a rough voice answered, "Me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert Giles, Head of the Watchers Council, and ghosts.

Giles span round, dagger in hand, then froze.

"Wesley."

"I thought you were resting?" Roger said, "After our... very trying journey."

"Journey?" Giles asked. He shifted back until both Wyndam-Pryce men were visible, and got a better grip on his bag.

"Yes, back from Los Angeles. Where I rescued Wesley," Roger informed him, chin up and shoulders back.

"Really Father? Is that the official story? And here I was thinking you'd resurrected me."

"Wesley! I, ah, realise you have been through hell, but it wasn't the kind you had to die to get into." Roger attempted a smile and glanced over at Giles, who still had the knife ready.

"Actually I've been through heaven, but that wouldn't have occurred to you, Father. You're always so surprised when I qualify for anything."

Wesley stepped into the room, glaring at his father. Giles moved further back, and kept the knife raised. The movement caught Wesley's eye, and he froze. He pulled his hands out of his pockets slowly, spread them, and backed away.

"I hope you won't need to use that, Mr Giles. I have no intention of harming you. But by all means, keep it to hand. As a Watcher I am very aware of the many ways a revivification can go wrong. I'm not sure I trust me yet either."

"Don't be absurd," Roger corrected him, "You're perfectly all right. I did all the necessary research myself, and the materials have been in the family for generations."

"You don't mean the scrolls?" Wes asked, dismayed. His hands dropped a bit as he turned back to his father. "When I tried to use them you reckoned we'd end up with zombie birds!"

"If _you_ used them we certainly would! There is a vast difference between childish experimentation and mature experience!"

"Even experienced mages wouldn't get involved in this! _Especially_..." Wesley's voice, so far very rough, cracked entirely at that last. He cleared his throat, and rubbed at it. With his shirt collar pushed out the way Giles could see a long scar there, looking livid enough to be fresh. "Excuse me." Wesley whispered, "I think I need some water. May I?" He gestured for the door.

Roger told him, "Yes, go on. Plenty of fluids, and something light to eat. Be careful, you haven't had food for..."

"Months, yes." Wes was still watching Giles for permission. He was, after all, the one with the weapon.

Giles nodded. "Fine. But don't try to leave. The Slayers outside have very specific instructions. And they apply to everybody," Giles added, looking at the elder Wyndam-Pryce.

"You're talking about **my** Slayers? Am I to understand you're using them to keep me under house arrest?"

"A sensible precaution. I understand. Excuse me," Wesley whispered uncomfortably, and left, presumably for the kitchen.

"Not so much house arrest as quarantine, Roger. One that also applies to me. All we know about the situation here is that many Watchers working with you are out sick, or missing, and you've been behaving oddly. And now there's someone here who looks like Wesley, who was last reported as dying in the first wave of the assault on Los Angeles."

"He doesn't just look like Wesley, he **is** Wesley. This isn't some bodge job by an amateur, Rupert. I prepared very carefully."

"Even so, it was an act of utter irresponsibility! There are uncounted beings on the outer planes who are just waiting for an opportunity like this. When a dead body opens its eyes there's no telling what is behind them!"

"Which is why the first thing they saw was a drawn sword. Believe me, I took every precaution. You saw my Slayers, and the wards. Nothing would have gone out of here without my approval."

"Even if it was partially Wesley? You've risked so much to get him back – your career, your good name, and probably your soul..."

"It was a greater risk to leave him there with **them**! He followed that vampire into hell, and nothing I could do to stop him. That damned company – Wolfram and Hart – you know the kind of contracts they have on their people. They'd put Wesley to work for them forever, and you know the kind of damage an ex-Watcher can do! I couldn't talk him out of risking it, but when it all fell apart I had a chance... Just the one chance... To save him." What began as his usual bluster wound down to a glimpse of his pain. But just a glimpse. He closed his eyes and visibly pulled himself together again. "Of course, he says he was in heaven. He would say that. Never wants to admit his own mistakes," he said, without apparent irony.

"I understand," Giles replied quietly. "Loss of life is hard enough, without the complications of souls... But Roger, traditionally one prays for the departed. Whatever has happened to them, the greater danger is in bringing them back."

"You really think so, hmm? So what made the difference when it was your girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"What was your excuse, when you brought your Slayer back?"

"I didn't... Buffy died, yes, when the Master drowned her, but it was Xander who..."

"I'm not talking about that. Three years ago, your Slayer was dead. Now she's dancing the night away in Rome. Courtesy of the last known Urn of Osiris. Purchased for your Magic Box, from that internet place, E Bay." Roger paused, gauging his reaction. "I told you. I did my research. Not a lot of people do, these days. They get remembered."

"I was not involved in that. Anya, my business partner, she was quite enthusiastic about computers. She also handled a lot of the ordering."

"Ah, Anyanka. The demon. Is that why you hired her? Do your dirty work for you?" Roger asked.

"Nothing of the sort! And she was not a demon when I hired her. Just someone with contacts and expertise who needed a job. Far better for it to be with me than anywhere else on the Hellmouth."

"So it was all her idea then? She worked the ritual alone?"

"Why do you believe there was a ritual? Buffy..."

"Has been the subject of resurrection magic. I sent one of my people to confirm it. A simple scrying spell. The signs are quite clear, once you know to look for them."

Giles pursed his lips and thought fast. With evidence, denial wouldn't put him off. "So. You know. Anya acquired the Urn, and it was used for Buffy." And since Anya was dead, that admission wouldn't harm her. In that spirit he added, "Spike had become... very attached to Buffy. When she died he was devastated."

"And as a vampire he would have no moral qualms, no soul," Roger supplied. "Which is exactly why Osiris would not have answered him. Try again, Giles. Who else will you malign to cover your involvement? The young witch who died? She can't defend herself either."

"I'm not trying to cover anything, I was not involved! I was on my way back to England, I hadn't a clue what they were planning."

"So, negligent and ignorant. And when you left – why was that? Because your Slayer was dead? That wasn't known to the Council. We thought Buffy was still the active Slayer. With you as her assigned Watcher. If you left before she was raised, tell me, how long had she been gone? More than a month, just to find that Urn. Two? Three? What was your salary at the time?"

"For goodness sake, that's hardly the most important issue," Giles told him.

"No? So, not enough money to worry about, was it? How much is that then? Shall I take it off the bill when I pay mine back?"

"You'll pay it back?"

"Of course, I simply needed the money quickly. Retrieving Wesley was difficult enough to arrange, once the opportunity arose I had to take it immediately. I just couldn't liquidate my assets fast enough." Wyndam-Pryce said this like it should be obvious.

"But the other irregularities – employees who can't be accounted for, people who were fired without the paperwork being filed..." Giles asked.

"Nothing to do with money. Some of my staff objected to my priorities. When they saw what I was doing... well, not everyone was willing to wait for a transfer. But I didn't think their employment history should be blemished because of my actions. I was going to look for other positions for them with the Council."

"Or let them come back when you were done?"

"That wouldn't be very wise. They obviously had no respect for me." Roger sighed. "I was aware that the actions I took would not be approved by Council policy. As you must have been. I couldn't expect that everyone who had worked so hard trying to rebuild the Council _properly_ would support me. That was why I gave my staff a few days off once I was ready. Everyone who actually disagreed was already off on holiday, or out sick if they hadn't any holiday left. But I didn't want the rest caught up in this."

"Or trying to stop you?"

"Or trying to stop me. The simplest measures I could take to prevent that was to keep them out of the way." Roger shrugged and continued. "Most of them knew nothing anyway. The responsibility lies entirely with me. I was ready for the repercussions, should I fail. But now that I have succeeded, there is no need for any negative response."

"Which is why you tried to cover this up?" Giles asked skeptically, "Called it a rescue and expected Wesley to agree?"

"That wasn't for me. Wesley will take his place with the Council one day. As will his children, and their children. The Wyndam-Pryce family have been Watchers since the time of Llywelyn the Last. That can't end here. But there are those who would never accept him if they thought he was some kind of revenant. Whatever tests he went through, there would be rumours. Every time he failed it would be attributed to some flaw in his recovery. How could he carry out his duties in the midst of that kind of prejudice?" Wyndam-Pryce appealed to Giles, "You must understand, you're still covering for your Slayer."

"I concealed Buffy's death to protect her sister, and Sunnydale."

"And that is still why you're still hiding it from the Council?"

"As it seems you were. You've had this information for some time, yet you only mention it today. I wonder why that is?"

Roger shook his head. "I did not investigate for some kind of tawdry blackmail attempt. This was not about leverage on you. I needed to know about the girl before I tried the scrolls. Once I found out about her, I knew it was possible. I knew I could do it. And I knew it could be done with no ill effects."

"If you believed that you really should have asked me," Giles corrected him. "I'm afraid there were a great many ill effects, for both the caster and for Buffy."

"She seemed perfectly normal to me. Are you saying there was something wrong? Is that why you left her..?"

"I never would have left her if there _were_ something wrong." Except for her own good. Which he had believed it had been. Not that he intended to drag Buffy's emotional trauma out for the edification of Wyndam-Pryce. "But the consequences were far reaching." Possibly including the First's unprecedented direct action, but that part he still intended to conceal, to protect Buffy from any misguided counterattacks.

Then he remembered, "They started with the night after Buffy's return. There was a demon, perhaps from outside or perhaps created by the spell. It possessed or attacked everyone involved, and it tried to kill Buffy."

"Wesley..." Roger headed for the kitchen quickly, grabbing a sword from the hatstand on the way through the hall.

Giles followed him, knife in hand.

They seemed somewhat overly dramatic when they arrived to find Wesley eating a sandwich. He paused with the food halfway to his mouth.

"Father? Is there something in particular wrong?"

"What were the signs of this entity?" Wyndam-Pryce asked Giles.

"I'm afraid that wasn't quite clear. I heard about it mostly from Dawn. She was telling me about the time she breathed fire."

"No fire here. Just pickles. So I suppose you might still want to stay well back." Wesley informed them, then took another bite.

"Wesley! This is a serious situation. The last documented revivification resulted in a demon trying to... reverse the process."

"So, I might just be here for a quick visit. Shall we get the usual round of arguments out of the way? I can talk about my career, and you can tell me what a failure it is. You've ample evidence now." Wes finished his sandwich and reached for his glass of water. He seemed entirely unruffled at the prospect of impending death, and resentful of the man who had brought him back.

Behaviour that was all too familiar. Giles needed to talk to him privately, soon.

"It seems our most urgent need is for information. Roger, I'm going to need a full report from you. All your methods, of course, and a record of any observations you made during and after the casting."

"Of course. I have the preparatory work assembled already."

"If you could write that up now, I'll call HQ, and possibly Dawn for more details."

"Right then. Shall we move to the office? Or should one of us stay with Wesley?"

"I am capable of looking after myself, you know," Wes interjected.

"Don't give me that, boy, you've been dead once already."

"Oh here we go!"

"Actually, I haven't had time for lunch yet," Giles interrupted. "I was rather hoping..."

"Of course, of course. Help yourself," Roger told him. He looked between Giles and Wesley with a frown, then smoothed his expression to neutrality. "I'll just, ah, get to that report then. Shouldn't take long." He exited, casually leaving the sword propped by the door.

Giles heard him pick another one out of the stand in the hall. He smiled at Wesley.

"So, the pickles are good?"

"Mother makes them. And the cheese is local too. Bread could do with toasting, if your throat is up to it." Wesley's voice was still far from smooth.

Giles asked about the scar. "That, ah, on your neck – that looks recent." He went over to start the toaster, moving carefully to keep Wesley in sight.

Wes helpfully moved around to put the table between them again, and stayed far away from the sword. "It feels it too. So do all the rest."

"You're in pain?"

"Not as such, no. Just... rather sore. You know they say that as you are dying your whole life flashes before your eyes? Not for me. The present moment had my full attention." He looked distant, and sad. Then he blinked and refocused on Giles. "I got the whole thing on the way back. Birth through death, all over again. And the more... memorable moments seem to have left their mark."

"That sounds... extremely uncomfortable. In more ways than one." Giles considered the consequences of such a review of just the last decade of his own life, and winced. "If you think you need a doctor..."

"No, I don't think so. Though I imagine I'll get several, before the Council is through with me. Are you going to phone them?"

"In a moment. Wes, I wanted to say..." Giles moved over to the table and sat down, trying to think exactly how this needed to be phrased. "Actually, I wanted to say hello, first. And welcome back. I realise I haven't been very welcoming yet..."

"But you don't know for sure what you'd be welcoming. I understand. Please, run every possible test. We'll all feel better," he assured Giles.

"It, ah, was actually feelings I wanted to talk to you about," Giles segued awkwardly.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Mr Giles, I realise I've been living in Los Angeles, but I am still British at heart. I rather expect to be offered tea, not therapy."

"Tea I would be rather better at." Giles grinned, and then decided that was a good idea. He got up to put the kettle on. "The other thing though... What you've been through... I thought it might help to remind you that you're not alone."

"I am very much aware of that. Angel, Cordelia, Spike, Fred – my colleagues don't seem to be very good at staying dead or gone. And the consequences are often... messy."

"Oh. Yes? Well. Actually, I meant..." He filled the kettle and tried to think. "I meant to say..." Could you just go up to a man and say excuse me, you seem suicidal or insane, assuming you aren't actually a demon. Want to talk about it? "We've lost so many Watchers lately. It would be good to get one back. It, ah, would be better if they stayed." Much better - don't kill yourself, we're running out of men. Damn but this was awkward. Wesley was right, British men should stick to tea. Giles left the water to boil and didn't look at Wes.

"Don't worry. I can, and will, look after myself," Wes assured him.

"Good, good," Giles said. He stared at the toaster and waited, Wes still across the room. The silence stretched, until the bread popping up made Giles jump. But he couldn't think of what else he could say. He buttered toast, and felt at sea.

Wesley joined him when the kettle steamed, to make the tea.

"The strangest thing is how nothing seems particularly strange," Wes observed quietly. "I'm standing in the house where I grew up, using a teapot I can remember my mother buying, and everything is utterly normal. And then I remember, it shouldn't be. I shouldn't be here." He set the kettle back down carefully and got two cups. "I imagine a ghost would feel like this, going through the motions again long after their death." Then he went to the refrigerator for milk. "It feels rather like those dreams one has, when one is back in school, with an unexpected test. I keep waiting to wake up." Milk in hand, he turned again, and faced Giles. "But I am awake. I am here. And I am going to adapt." He went back to pour the milk. "So it isn't that I don't want to be alive. I just... haven't quite realised that I am." He set the bottle down next to the second cup, picked up the teapot, and went back to the table to sit down.

"I understand," Giles replied. And discovered he did, quite exactly. From the last time he was at The Magic Box. "When one is dying... When one accepts death... You let go. Let go of life. You feel it slip away. And you take comfort in the fact that it keeps on going without you." He put down the cheese knife, and found the pickle jar. "But then, unbelievably, the battle is over, and you're still there. Bruised every way you can be, but still there. And you have to catch up again. Pick up the pieces. However insubstantial they might seem. Or immense." He picked up the cup, and his assembled lunch, and went to the table to join Wesley.

"Did... Buffy have particular trouble with that?"

"Buffy is a very strong young woman. She found her return challenging, of course, but she rose to it in the end. Her friends helped," Giles realised that, to the best of anyone's knowledge, every friend Wesley had was dead in Los Angeles. He moved on quickly. "And her family..." The parts of it that weren't dead or estranged. Which meant Dawn. Who was... a mixed blessing.

Wesley glanced at the hallway, where the elder Wyndam-Pryce could be heard typing laboriously in his study, and raised an eyebrow.

Perhaps not a good example either.

"Of course the new situation with the Slayers has changed things considerably. Buffy isn't needed for every routine thing. And whatever happens, teams of Slayers are available as backup." He took a bite of cheese and went on absently, "The added strain on the Council is considerable, especially with our recent losses. The new Slayers need guidance, information, support, even basic translation. Getting back to work would keep your mind occupied..." He realised he was turning this into his standard recruitment speech and stumbled to a halt again. All things considered it was a bit premature.

Out of topics, he crunched into his toast and picked up the teapot instead. He gestured with it to Wesley, who pushed his cup forward, then poured for both of them.

"You're quite right you know," Wesley said.

Giles looked at him, relieved.

"You are better at tea," Wes finished, deadpan. He took a sip, then grinned, just enough.

After the necessary hard stare, so did Giles.

"So," Wes reminded him, "You were going to phone Council HQ. And Dawn?"

"And Willow, I think. She has the most relevant expertise."

"She's back from Tibet?"

"Nepal, actually, or rather the astral plane. We left messages after LA but she only got them last month. Time passes differently in other realms."

"Yes." Wes went distant again.

Giles got out his phone and dialled his own desk, where the reliable Ms Wayland picked up. "Hello? Yes. I've seen Wyndam-Pryce. The money went to Los Angeles. He brought Wesley back. We're going to need a team to confirm... all the details."

Several phone calls later Giles noticed that the sound of typing had stopped. Wesley was finishing the tea, and seemed alright, so Giles went to check on Roger Wyndam-Pryce.

He was sitting at his desk, sideways on to the door with a view out the front windows. The curtains had been pulled back and the sinking sun lit every corner of the room with red tinted gold. Roger had his reading glasses on, and was peering at a typed page. As Giles stepped into the room he could see he was also fiddling with a bottle of whiteout.

Roger glanced up. "Nearly finished. Just, ah..." He slid the bottle the other side of the typewriter. "Checking for accuracy."

Giles nodded. He paused, then picked up a previous topic. "After the casting – did you experience any, ah, anomalous feelings?"

"Afterwards? No. The spell was, ah, intense, of course. Greater magics. Always testing. But afterwards there was just the expected energy drain."

"No... euphoria? Feelings of omnipotence?" Roger gave him a look and Giles hastened to explain. "I ask for a specific reason. As I said, the raising had an adverse effect on the caster. Initial symptoms were relatively innocuous, but looking back, I think their emotional reactions were a bad sign. Overconfidence and, and disproportionate glee."

Roger took his glasses off. "So, you are saying, if I felt some joy at my son being alive, that would be a sign. Of what? Possession?"

"Well it would certainly be uncharacteristic," Wesley remarked from the doorway. Both Watchers turned to face him. He smiled pleasantly. "I'm going back up to my room. Rest and relaxation. If anything happens, you'll probably hear the screams," he remarked casually, turning and heading for the stairs.

Roger watched him go. "Talking of anomalous behaviour..." Then he blinked and focused on Giles. "Not that there's anything wrong with him," he asserted. "Probably just been at the bottle. He never could handle his drink."

Giles stayed focused on Roger.

"I understand why you would want this. Getting your child back... When I first saw Buffy, it was..."

"She's your Slayer, Giles. Hardly the same."

Giles frowned. By Council policy it shouldn't be, but then they'd fired him for having 'a father's love' for her.

Not the current issue.

"Your reasons, I can understand. But what you did? You took an enormous risk. Not just with Wesley, and yourself, but with the whole world. The forces involved..."

"I understand the forces involved! Probably better than you, Rupert. I was a Watcher when you were still in school."

"Which is why I'm doubly astounded that you could do such a thing. All of our training, our experience – you've _seen_ the consequences..."

"I've seen them alive and well. If you could do it, I shouldn't have any problems."

"Arrogance. Overconfidence. Exactly what led the last caster into dark magic."

"Odd to hear you lecture me on dark magic. _I'm_ not the one who ruined his career calling up demons."

"Ruined my..? Where did you hear that version?"

"It was common knowledge. They only let you back in as a favour to your father. Good man, that. Solid. Shame he died so young," Roger observed. "He never got to see you be a proper Watcher."

Giles clenched a fist, and tried to be calm. Such opinions should be old news by now.

"Of course he didn't have to see what you did with the chance," Roger continued. "Discarding traditions and putting your Slayer in charge. We should have known then what kind of leader you would be."

"I know your opinions of me, and of our policies," Giles replied, in a calm voice a smart man would call dangerous. Wyndam-Pryce of course would need clearer warning. "I am attempting to keep my personal opinions of you from influencing my judgement here. I have given you only facts. Channelling magics of this sort puts the caster in insidious, ongoing danger, however successful the spell itself seems." He took a breath. "And someone will have to be able to watch out for danger signs. Someone on the Council you will trust. You won't listen to me. Fine. Give me a name and we'll explain the whole situation to him. It should be someone you work with, but not a subordinate. It might be awkward for someone you give orders to point out... incipient megalomania, for example."

Roger looked at him curiously. "Who Watches the Watcher, hmmm? The rest of the Council, generally."

"If they know precisely what to watch out for. I am considering... restricting information, in this case."

Now Roger looked calculating. "Ah. I see." He paused, and nodded. "I see. You can't let it get out."

"Not for the reasons you might think. Nothing personal. If the rest of the Council want to believe that I raised the dead, that wouldn't bother me. The problem is if they think we did that and got away with it."

"And will I? Get away with it?"

"If Wesley is indeed intact, there will be others who will think you did. As you believed about Buffy." Giles moved closer and spoke intently. "The Wyndam-Pryces got off light, as far as family losses go. Did you know, I am the last Giles? Even my cousins were killed. Every Watcher family – every last one of them – lost somebody. Do you think they just don't care enough to want them back? They know the risks. **They** do their duty." Roger bridled at that, but Giles overrode him. "They protect the world, whatever the personal cost. I've heard your reasons. I can understand, but not accept them. I thought Buffy was in hell and I had to decide to leave her there. There is no sufficient excuse for opening the doors to the kind of consequences you have invited."

"I knew what I was doing. I accounted for every risk!"

"Because you are a Watcher, so you know enough to do that. Yes. Now apply that reasoning to the rest of the organisation." He paused and let it sink in. "You are a respected leader. And you actively oppose me politically. Any action I take to reprimand you will be read as purely partisan. And any punishment I devise will still seem quite acceptable to some. If Wesley lives."

Roger's hand twitched towards a weapon, then stopped, as he realised the other man had position on him. His face hardened.

Giles let the moment stretch as long as he dared, then added, "I have every hope Wesley will live."

Roger marginally relaxed again.

"So... So the only way to avoid anarchy is..."

"If we go with your self-serving little lie. Wesley was brought back from Los Angeles. That is all a Watcher needs to know, to keep an eye on him. And you. But once they're sure you aren't possessed, they'll drop their guard. And what might go bad in you has nothing to do with possession. Just pride." Giles paused again. "So, choose someone. If there's anyone who already knows the truth, choose one of them. Your office, especially former employees, will be the greatest security risk anyway. You've shown incredibly poor judgement in every aspect of this. If I had a free hand in this I'd fire you."

"You can't. I have as much support in the Council as you do. Move like that without explanation and I'd have more."

"Especially after a daring, and successful, rescue attempt. Just the thing to capture the imaginations of the younger generation. Which, I'm sure, never crossed your mind when you set up the story. How many have you told it to?"

"Just those involved in transport. Going to Los Angeles... I had to be there in person. Too many things could go wrong. But I had to give some explanation... Mr Giles, I truly did not mean this as... as some kind of PR stunt. I did this for Wesley..."

"Yes. And so do I," said Giles.

***

The investigation team finally arrived from London just after dark, which caused some understandable confusion, and dampness. Holy water having cleared up half the problem, the other half remained. The Slayers on the gate had been ordered to let no one in or out, and they followed their orders with commendable precision and enthusiasm. Unfortunately HQ hadn't sent along anyone they recognised, so they wouldn't acknowledge the counterorder. Since the original problem was HQ's inability to contact anyone in their chain of command, it seemed for a while they'd have to wait for Wesley's mother to arrive from Australia.

Then Willow arrived with Faith. Every Slayer recognised them.

After that things became very busy, but not for Giles. Since between them Faith and Willow could handle a small apocalypse, and since it was very late in a very long day, Giles decided to leave things in their capable hands and go home.

He did not take the helicopter.

He did take a copy of the Wyndam-Pryce report, leaving the original with Willow. She and Roger would have to cook up something to satisfy the official investigation, but the true story would remain on file under lock and key. Giles wanted to know what he was classifying before he put it away. So he read on the train. He had to admit, even when setting out to do a very stupid thing, Wyndam-Pryce did it thoroughly. Giles skimmed the sections about Buffy – he was rather familiar with the contents already – but the sections on retrieving Wesley's remains would do for both the 'rescue' story and a scathing report on the weaknesses in the LA quarantine. By the time he arrived in Bath he was fuming, and he had a page long list of urgent concerns to forward to Finn.

But he put them all away as the train pulled in, and by the time he reached his flat he was thinking of only sleep.

He managed to get at least an hour in before the phone rang.

"Sir, there's been an incident."

"With Wyndam-Pryce?"

"No sir. I don't have the status on that. This is about a Slayer, Vi. She saw you earlier today? She's been arrested. By the police. They're saying she killed a man."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Giles got in to the office he had been officially commanding the situation by phone for an hour. It was frustrating and confusing, with information scarce and contradictory, and all the people he was used to dealing with either asleep or in transit. Someone had woken up poor Ms Wayland to coordinate, which helped, but there still wasn't a clear picture. He spent the whole journey fuming at the delays.

Once he arrived at HQ physically he realised using the telephone had one important advantage. Only one person could talk to him at once.

"Mr Giles! The other Slayer arrived, she's..."  
"Sir! The Head of Legal is awake but..."  
"Giles, the girl's Watcher is following her, what should we..?"

They reached for him with hands or folders or bits of paper, new habits useful one on one but intolerable in a crowd. Then he noticed the figures that did not quite touch who they reached for, or faded out as he looked at them. The ghosts were as stirred up as the official staff, it seemed. The press made a different kind of sense.

"Mr Giles! There's something at the back..."  
"Sir! If you could just..."

"Everyone, please! I will deal with you all. Just, just wait outside and, and, we'll get to you..." Giles stammered, trying to get past. He kept heading for the office, but everybody would insist on following him, sure they should be seen first. It reminded him of the grand opening at the Magic Box, but with no Anya to help him out.

Luckily the imperturbable Ms Wayland was just as much of an expert in her field. She met him with a checklist and a provisional briefing at her office door, then shut the hordes out as they tried to follow him into his.

"_Thank_ you, Ms Wayland. There seem to be... rather a lot of people here."

"It's not as chaotic as it seems," Harriet assured him. "Everyone has procedures to follow. After all, it is hardly the first time the Slayer has had problems with local law enforcement, and the Council has always dealt with it before."

"Not this incarnation of the Council. Do we have anyone left with relevant experience?"

"Faith was on her way to see Vi at the police station. Her idea. She said she knew what Vi would be going through."

"Yes... Well, that's certainly true. Remind me, did we finish resolving that small problem with Faith's legal status?"

"I'll check, sir." Ms Wayland made a note. "The Head of Legal Affairs is on his way in, but he is in a wheelchair and it takes him a little while to get started. His assistant and some of the young people from his department are managing things in the meantime."

"How young? Fresh out of law school?"

"Most of them have graduated, yes sir."

Giles winced, and Ms Wayland apologised. "I'm sorry, but the British legal team was located..."

"On the floor underneath the bomb. Yes, I understand. It's just... rather unfortunate."

"We do have one more person in place - Our man in the Met has been contacted and he is now aware that the young lady works for us. He believed he could involve himself in the investigation, but he had no new information yet. He also asked that I remind you that, while of course his calling is to be a Watcher, he believes the best way to carry out that work is as a policeman. Any overt action taken on our behalf could compromise that."

"If we need to call on him I will consider the consequences carefully," Giles assured her.

She ticked something off on her list and read the rest. "Of the people trying to meet you... Everyone is doing their jobs, however there are some conflicting ideas about what exactly their jobs should be. According to the old handbook the priorities are secrecy and control – the Slayer's cover must be maintained, but in the event she has actually killed a human she must also be restrained and transported for Council disciplinary procedures. There are some enthusiastic young men in a van preparing for that eventuality. At last report they were still trying to install the chains." Giles winced, and Ms Wayland crossed something out. "On the other hand the new guidelines stress the support of the Slayer, and by those rules we should concentrate on making sure she doesn't suffer for her operational necessities."

"Was this a necessity? What exactly happened?"

"That we are still trying to determine. Her partner, Fiona, is just down the hall. Shall I send her to you?"

"Yes, please. Let's see if we can start to sort this out. Oh, and the men with the van – try not to let Faith find out about them. And send whoever ordered that in here ASAP."

"Yes, sir. They'll be with you shortly." She left, list in hand.

Fiona slid into the room through a barely opened door and closed it after her quickly. Then she hovered there until Giles called her forward.

"Miss Atwood. Please, come and take a seat."

She moved awkwardly and sat in her chair trying to be as small as possible. Her hands twisted together constantly in her lap.

"Are you alright?" Giles asked gently.

Fiona shook her head, and looked away.

"Do you need anything? A glass of water? I could order some tea," Giles offered.

Fiona just bit her lip and shook her head again. She seemed on the verge of tears. Then she blurted out, "It's my fault! It was my stupid idea. I shouldn't have left her alone. And I shouldn't have called the police!"

"You called them?"

"Yes, sir. I'm so, so sorry. We're supposed to be all secret and I go and get Vi arrested! Mrs Rafferty, she wasn't there, but she said to do it. But she'd said it wasn't our kind of job. I should have checked with Vi first."

"Slayer Atwood, if you obeyed the instructions of your Watcher, you acted correctly. Please, could you start at the beginning? We need a clear picture."

"Sir." She sniffed, but pulled herself up straighter in her chair. "We were... we were out on patrol. Our usual area. Warehouses, mostly. Some empty industrial stuff. You always have to check them, because vampires like that kind of place. So we were inside one, and we found something. Drawings. Lots of red lines. They weren't there last week. They looked like stuff out of Watcher books, and they felt... They made you feel wrong, to look at them." She bit her lip and actually looked at Giles, trying to be clear.

Giles nodded. "I understand. So you believed they were magical?"

"Yeah. I thought so. So, we needed to show Mrs Rafferty. But I haven't got my new phone yet, so I couldn't send pictures. And then I couldn't get a signal. So Vi said I should go find a place the phone would work, and she would look around a bit. Vi, she's been doing this for years, she had a Watcher even before she got the power. She knows things. So I did like she said and went outside. The phone worked then. I called Watcher Rafferty and I described what I saw. More than I did just now. Do you want to hear what I said? Because I've been wondering, maybe I said it wrong. I was trying to say it like they do in reports, and I'm not sure I got all the words right, and I don't really know what to call some of those shapes..."

"It's okay, you can work on that with your Watcher later. I just need to know what happened tonight. You described the scene to her?"

"Yes. But she said it didn't sound like vampires, more like graffiti. Something human. She said, if there are human laws broken, I should just phone the police. So... so I did. Only," she finished in a small voice, "I think maybe she just meant, like, not to do anything ourselves. I mean she said if. But I thought... but, well, it all turned into a mess, and..."

"Fiona, you used your best judgment. You consulted your Watcher, and you followed her instructions." However open to misinterpretation they were. He just needed her to focus on facts. "Please, don't worry. Just tell me what happened then."

"Well, I told 999, there were these lines everywhere. They didn't seem very impressed. But then there was a noise, like something smashed. So I ran inside. The phone kept working, I don't know why. If it had lost the signal they'd have just ignored me. But when I got back to that room there was somebody there – someone lying in the middle of the pattern. And I just blurted out, 'oh my god, there's a body'. And I'd already told them where I was, and I guess they could hear a fight like I could, and the police got there so fast they were at the door when we tried to leave. Vi ran straight out there, and they caught her. I thought she was going to fight them, but she stopped. Just, stopped still and let them grab her. And then she started crying." As Fiona did now. She looked up at Giles, quite lost. "I don't know what happened to her. I wasn't there. I was outside with the stupid telephone, and now she's in trouble and I wasn't there. I just... I ran the other way. There's a back door. I left her."

Giles opened a draw and retrieved a box of tissues, then handed them across to her. "I don't think leaving her was wrong, in the circumstances. She's alive, and unharmed. The police aren't a threat to her. She'll be alright." He very much hoped so anyway.

"But I left her before," Fiona mumbled, and blew her nose. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm supposed to just report, not sniffle. But... but I think that lady was dead. There was blood everywhere. I'm a Slayer now, that shouldn't bother me. But there was just so _much_. And I've never seen anyone just _dead_ before..." Fiona sobbed and had to take a moment, burying her face in the tissues.

Giles was reminded of just how young these girls were. Thousands of super powered women, but not a one of them older than twenty-three year old Buffy. Fiona, right now, looked young enough to still be in school.

The Giles caught himself. What did age have to do with it? For most people finding a violently slain body was not a normal part of maturation.

"I'm sorry. I know this must be very difficult for you." Giles moved to leave his desk and go to her, but Fiona straightened up so abruptly he realised he'd be more calming where he was. "So, you heard a fight, and then you found a woman dead?"

"If she was. I should have checked. I was going to check. I went to look, but... but I didn't go very fast. And there were noises, so I went to find out what that was, and I found Vi, coming back." She paused and tried to pull herself together. "She, uh, she didn't look okay. I think she had blood on her hands." Fiona sniffed. "I don't know, it was dark, it could have been a lot of things. But she said we were leaving, right away. She started running. She bumped into me as she went by. I think that was when I lost the phone."

For the police to find later. Oh dear. "So, you followed her? And that was when she ran into the police?"

"Yes. I don't know how they were so _fast_ sir, I mean I'd just then called. It was like two minutes later. Not more. But they were right there."

"I see." Either they were in the area already for some reason, or the time estimate was wrong. If magic was involved they couldn't rule anything out yet. "So, just to check – while doing your normal patrol, you found evidence you thought might be magical. You called your Watcher for instructions, and followed them. While doing so you were out of contact with your fellow Slayer, who you next saw leaving at speed and then surrendering herself to the police. Is that correct?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir," she said quietly.

"And then you came here?"

"Mrs Rafferty said to. I called from the tube station. She said she'd handle it, and I should report here."

"I'm glad you did. This is all valuable information." And probably as much as she could tell him for now. "Have we got any of this in writing yet?"

She shook her head. "They gave me paper, but I... I didn't manage much."

"That's alright. Do you think you could do more now?"

She nodded, and went to pull out a lot more tissues.

"Don't worry, you can take the box. I can get more." He flicked the intercom switch. "Ms Wayland, Fiona is done here. Could you show her to some quiet room, where she can write?"

"Of course sir," came back from the speaker, and then the door opened. Ms Wayland took the girl in hand. "If you could come with me, please." As the door closed behind them, he heard her offer, "You look like you could do with a cup of tea."

Tea sounded just right to Giles.

But then came a knock at the door, which opened without waiting for word. "Mr Giles, sir. Ted Hobb here. From the transport team? I heard you wanted to see me."

The man with the van. "Yes, Hobb. We need to talk."

One short but diplomatic conversation later, the transport team's enthusiasm was carefully redirected. They weren't technically doing anything wrong, just being slightly premature. Giles made a note to clarify that part of the policy later.

He made another note to get the names of precisely which Watchers were so eager to put Slayers in chains.

Then the private door to his office opened, this time with no knock at all, and Giles was halfway out of his seat and reaching for a weapon before he identified the new arrival.

"Faith."

"Hey, G. You know there's an armoured truck out back? Did we hit the jackpot, or did it have something to do with the guy in the quad with the anchor chain?"

Ah. Of course, Faith would use the back door. Giles moved on quickly. "I was told you were going to visit Vi."

"Yup. Got her right here. Thought we'd dodge the crowds. Come on in guys, he's not busy," she ducked her head out and told them.

Giles sat back and watched as a small procession entered his office – Vi of course, but this time following Mrs Rafferty. Then their man from the Met, a Detective Inspector Hornbeck. And lastly, for some reason, there was Wesley. He would have to ask Faith about that.

Later. Faith and Wesley stayed together by the door, but the other three were at the front of his desk. He moved to shake hands with each of them.

"Watchers, Slayer." Vi took a seat, but the Watchers remained standing until invited formally. "Please, sit down. What have you to report?"

"Oh, the usual," Vi said, with a smirk directed at Mrs Rafferty. "Went out, staked a bad guy, saved the day."

This was the girl who went crying into a police car? She seemed to have had a change in attitude.

Watcher Rafferty, however, remained tight lipped and unamused. "I'm sorry, Mr Giles, she seems to have retreated into flippancy."

"I, ah, have some experience of Slayers. I think I can cope," Giles assured her. "Slayer Vi, could you perhaps add some details? Right now what we know is rather confusing. Did you, ah, kill somebody?"

Very briefly, Vi looked serious, even distressed. Then she smiled again confidently. "Yeah. I killed a man."

Giles frowned, then patiently tried to get the whole story. Adding Vi's report to Fiona's, with comments from the others, a clearer account emerged.

Vi and Fiona patrolled a fairly large area. Although London had the highest concentration of Slayers in the world right now, it was still a very large place. So there was plenty of scope to vary their routine. They chose buildings to check either at random or when something changed. Tonight they chose an old brewery.

The building was large for anywhere but London. In that area, it was modestly sized, set between much larger warehouses. The ground floor had been boarded up once, but decay and curiosity had left it open to the moderately determined. Tonight it was open to anyone – one door was left gaping wide.

The two girls readied their stakes and went in.

Inside, on the ground floor, they had a view clear to the back. Scattered lumps on the floor showed where vats had once stood, but in the decades since it closed down everything had been cleared out. Brick pillars supported the roof at regular intervals. And leading up the side wall were a set of iron stairs. Patches of rust stained them, and a hand on the railing came away red, but almost all the steps were still there. Fiona didn't like to use them, but where Vi led, she followed.

Upstairs was different. There were still rooms here, and tangles of pipe leading from nowhere to mysterious dark corners. Slayers saw well in the dark, but even for them it was a nasty place to search. So they made sure to do so regularly. They'd last been in last week.

The red paint had not been there last week.

Fiona was nervous from the first moment she saw it. "That... That doesn't look good."

Vi reckoned she had seen the worst the Hellmouth had to offer, and wasn't shaken by anything. But these symbols reminded her of there. "They look evil. Which is what we're looking for. Come on."

"Vi, that isn't a vampire thing. Is it? I mean, the books don't mention vampires tagging their lairs."

"That isn't a tag, it's a pentagram. Big occult symbol. You might have seen it on the covers of, like, a thousand books."

"That's what I'm saying. It's a book thing. We're supposed to call Mrs Rafferty for book things."

"Fine, call her. I'll keep looking."

Fiona got the phone out while Vi went forwards. The closer she got to the markings, the less she liked them. They reminded her of the Seal, the one the Turok-Han came out of. Not so much the details – it only looked like a goat if you really squinted – but the way it felt to be near.

"It's not working."

Vi really hoped not.

"I can't get a signal."

Oh, right. The phone. "Then go outside," she said impatiently. She felt edgy, hyper alert. Something was going on here. And she was the Slayer to deal with it.

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Go." Fiona only slowed her down anyway.

She heard footsteps retreating, slow and hollow on the stairs. She was still looking at the pentagram. It stretched out on the floor about six feet wide, an unbroken circle of wet looking red. She really didn't want to touch it. So she skirted around, went to look at the wall instead. There were more symbols there, also red. Below them was a shelf, and when she got close enough she found, among the expected junk, a small pot with a brush sticking out. It didn't look like much, but it smelled like a butcher's shop.

Blood.

Good. Definitely a Slayer job.

Downstairs, not knowing this, Fiona told their Watcher someone had painted a red star in an abandoned building. Mrs Rafferty knew all about graffiti. She called it a matter for the police.

Upstairs, in the dark, Vi heard a sound behind her. She spun around.

A black robed figure was bending over a girl in that circle, knife in hand. Vi froze, shocked to find him just appearing there, but then the knife rose, and the scene got too damned familiar. Bringer.

She dived forward with all her preternatural speed, but when she hit the circle it was like diving into tar. The air thickened around her, and she was left as slow as a human, lunging forward and watching the knife come down. She had plenty of time to think, to remember, all the other Bringers, all the other girls, who never lived to become Slayers. Then she pushed right through the spell and slammed into him.

Too late. She saw blood on the blade, felt something wet hit her legs. The girl was face down on the floor and blood spilled out. Filling the symbol.

Vi left the robed guy where he lay and scrambled for the circle's edge, then rubbed at it with sleeves, hands, feet, anything to make a gap. Lines and symbols resisted stickily for a moment, then smudged into oblivion. Just before the spreading blood pool hit them.

Thank God. Whatever it had been, it wouldn't open today.

There came a sudden crash from the pipes, and Vi looked up to see the black robe blending into the darkness as it left the room. She was on her feet and after it in an instant.

What happened next she remembered like there was strobe lighting, still flashed moments, one after the other.

She was on her feet. She had the knife. She jumped the mess. She went through the door. She found the robe, heading for a back window. She had him down. The knife was in him.

"Oh my god, there's a body," from the room she had left.

She was straddling a dead body with a knife in the heart.

The hood had fallen down to cover the face completely. She pushed it back, and stared. At wide open eyes.

Not a Bringer.

A man. A young man. Young like her.

Just a regular human, with his face all scraped up, from where she'd hit him.

After that, Vi's retelling in the office skipped straight to the police station. But when Faith had first arrived, she'd heard a different story, full of self doubt. Could she have been smarter, faster, better – those worries haunted every Slayer, but Vi was left doubting her own eyes. If she'd been wrong about the species, what else had she misread? There was a point she even doubted what he'd meant to do with the knife. But Faith talked to her, and Mrs Rafferty arrived to take her in hand – not comforting, but calming. And then new information put an end to her doubts.

"This murder fits the pattern," Inspector Hornbeck told Giles. "Same as the other four. Remnants of the same symbols at all of them. Right type of victim, right location. That was why it got answered so fast – cars were already in the area. Plot the killings out on a map and you get the same symbol he drew on the floor." He sat back and shook his head. "Multiple human sacrifice, in the middle of London. He could have called up anything. Bloody lucky our girl was there."

"Was there any evidence of demonic incursion?" Giles asked. "Did the ritual seem aimed at a particular demon?"

"We're still working on that, sir. The Specialist Crime Directorate does ritual murders, but we tend to focus on the murder part. I usually have to draw on Watcher resources to figure out the ritual. It takes time, and resources."

Which was exactly what the man had come to him repeatedly asking for. All things considered, he was showing great restraint to just give Giles a meaningful look.

Giles nodded. "You shall have them." A little late, but the Council was stretched so thin these days, every resource was devoted to Slayer matters. Which this had become. "There will be a review team..."

"You mean disciplinary committee," Vi said.

Giles addressed her again. "Yes, that would be another name for it. They will review the evidence and make recommendations. I anticipate, in this case, there won't be much 'discipline' involved. Just collecting the facts."

"Right," Vi said, somewhat skeptically.

"It will be right," Faith told her. "Because I'm going to be on it."

Giles wasn't quite sure that was a good idea. In fact he was sure what the more traditional factions would make of it. But Faith was the second most senior Slayer in the world, and stopping her doing anything was... difficult. He decided to leave the issue for later.

"The aspect of greatest concern tonight... or this morning, rather..." he corrected himself, after seeing his clock, "Would be the possibility of a summoning or portal of some sort having been successfully created. We'll need to watch all the murder sites, and possibly an area in the center. We'll co-ordinate Slayer teams centrally, here. How this will interact with police procedures..."

"Poorly," the detective opined. "The earlier sites are probably empty, Forensics was done with them, but tonight's will be swarming still. The bit in the middle... well, our investigation won't be there, but it might be expensive for you. Lots of shops. Lots of teenage girls. Bit of a disaster in the making." He grinned.

That didn't go over well with any of his audience. He ungrinned quickly.

"Of course, you have to take the chance seriously. Wouldn't want another Los Angeles," he said.

"LA was a unique event." A slightly grating voice sounded from beside the door. Wesley spoke up for the first time that day. "None of the same conditions apply to this situation."

Giles looked at Wesley, and made a mental note to have a long conversation with him, soon.

Hornbeck looked nonplussed. "Right. Well." He turned back to Giles. "I can be most use to you if I get back to police work. Sort reports, send any high strangeness your way. What I usually do."

"Thank you, that would help."

"And I, of course, will assist with the Watcher investigation," Mrs Rafferty asserted.

Giles corrected her as gently as he could. "Your report will be invaluable, of course. And you should help your Slayers get this all down on paper. After that... The three of you will get a short holiday at home. A break from your duties."

"Suspension, you mean," Vi said.

"Pending the results of the committee?" Mrs Rafferty enquired. When Giles nodded, she looked over at Faith. Faith just looked at her coolly. The Watcher turned to address Mr Giles. "There will be some more... experienced personnel on that board?"

Giles decided on diplomacy, and simply said, "There will be Watchers as well as Slayers." Time to move on. "Watcher Rafferty, if you see Ms Wayland on your way out, she will tell you which room Fiona is in. Inspector, thank you for handling this for us. I look forward to seeing your reports."

Knowing a dismissal when they heard it, Rafferty gathered Vi up and the three left via the outer office.

Faith opened the private door to leave that way, but Giles stopped her. "Faith, we need to talk about the other matter."

"Can it wait, G? I was thinking breakfast."

"A good thought," Giles agreed, "I'll join you."

It only took him fifteen minutes to deal with the most urgent matters before he managed it.

Over eggs on toast, full English breakfast, and a lot of tea, Giles, Faith, and Wesley discussed Wesley's status. Willow had given him a clean bill of health, Faith had brought him to HQ and started to fill him in on the new way of running things around here, and Wesley seemed... if not eager, at least willing to start work again.

Giles found him an office at HQ. More of a cupboard, actually, but big enough for a chair and some shelves. Wesley had a report to make about the events in Los Angeles. There was a bit of a tussle with the elder Wyndam-Pryce, who had expected Wes to work for him, but Giles was firm. He didn't dislike Wesley, at least not that much. Besides, this way he could keep an eye on Wes, in case Willow had missed anything.

The rest of Wednesday was taken up with reading reports on both Vi and Wesley, choosing committees and making judgments, whilst attempting to manage both some of the work rescheduled the previous afternoon and what was on the agenda for that day. Giles knew he would be working through lunch, and had sandwiches sent up. He hadn't actually planned to work through supper as well, but the disciplinary committee turned out to require a very delicate balance of personalities to satisfy all interested parties, and therefore every appointment turned into an argument. He got home very late.

Thursday was supposed to be better. The disciplinary committee was assembled so the reports started to go to them. But Thursday saw the return of the interminable pay dispute in Africa. It kept on coming back to him because it touched on basic questions of policy. Should the Slayers be paid the same amount in pounds all over the world, or simply given the local living wage. Ethics and the Slayers said the former, long standing Watcher policy and the state of their bank accounts said otherwise. Giles stalled it again. "I'm very grateful that you have spent so much time and effort preparing this report. I realise coming to any unanimous decision on this matter must have been very difficult... I'm sorry, not unanimous? But the committee was to make a recommendation..."

Then he had to spend his lunch hour explaining to each member individually that this did not mean he was favouring some other group.

Friday saw a sudden flare up in the Far East. That branch had been relatively quiet since they'd got back in touch, but now they were clamouring for an urgent decision. There was trouble brewing in Korea, and the Watchers needed to know if they should risk setting off an international incident to avert a somewhat doubtful prophecy. After reading the full report, and the prophecy in three different translations, he developed a splitting headache but no great insights. He was tempted to send it back with a note to the effect that he had complete confidence in the Watcher teams on the ground. That was usually good policy. But while he could hope everyone involved was a Watcher first, they were also mostly locals from one side or another, and everything became political. It was possible the prophecy was simply an excuse, and the Watchers involved were the first to realise they now had a super powered army on their hands. Or it was possible they were looking at an apocalypse, badly transcribed. And Giles, as the Head, was supposed to know which.

He took some aspirin, and called Ms Wayland in. "Get all this down to Research," he told her, pushing the files across the desk. "I'm going to need them to look into this thoroughly, starting with the original provenance of this inscription. Preliminary findings by tonight."

"Yes sir." She made a note, unflappable as ever. "Sir, there's a Watcher in the office who says you wanted to have lunch with him."

"That I wanted..? Oh, Edgar. Right." He looked at the schedule for the day, and rubbed his eyes. "Yes. Find time for him before he flies back, will you? Old school friend. Just... not today." Today he needed to lie down somewhere quiet for a while. He settled for closing the blinds, and got back to work.

Saturday was only a day off for lesser men. Which made it marginally less likely to get interrupted. This weekend, however, there was a delegation from Cleveland over to give a progress report. They had decided to 'do lunch', which Giles always found meant he picked at a salad while everyone tried to impress him and get a firm decision. The salaries, accommodations, and equipping of the Cleveland Slayers were mercifully uncontroversial. What erupted into argument was the debate about the paint job.

Yes, he had heard that right.

It turned out someone had suggested they paint 'Slayer Central' above the door. They'd probably meant it as a joke, but it was no joke now. It was becoming a test case on the basic issue of secrecy, and it was polarising the entire North American branch. Of course the Slayer had operated in secret for millennia, and the Watchers had done everything in their power to guard that secret. But there was precedent for visibility in some isolated locations, where the legend of the Slayer was well enough known the Council had parents come to them. Kendra had come from an island like that. And some in Cleveland were suggesting the USA could get to be that way. Slayers were working openly with government troops around Los Angeles, and the things happening in LA were too bizarre to entirely explain away.

In theory. Other branches of the government were certainly trying. Wesley supplied the data that certain parties in high places were Wolfram &amp; Hart clients with multi generation contracts, and that complicated matters yet again.

"Gentlemen, Ladies..." Giles attempted to calm them. "I appreciate the temptation to put every change in place at once. Fresh start, new outlook. But perhaps the most world changing alternatives could wait for slightly more settled times."

It took rather more words than that, as always, but that was where they left it.

Afterwards, Giles remarked to Wesley, "You know, I'm beginning to realise why the Council has always been so conservative. You get these bizarre things crossing your desk, and you can't ever say 'How am I supposed to know?'"

"You are the Head of the Council," Wesley said.

"I'm supposed to do all the thinking." Giles agreed. Then he glanced at Wes and saw his amusement. "Not that everyone isn't busy. I just mean..."

"I know exactly what you mean. Wolfram and Hart might have had a 'multi tasking' staff, but they all came back to Angel's team before they could do anything."

"And when you say to leave things be, they nod about how wise and steady you are. But then it all comes back again. Sisyphus would prefer his rock."

"I know the feeling," Wes agreed. He paused, and asked, "Faith and some friends invited me down the pub tomorrow. No business, just a pint and a few games of darts. Would you like to come?"

Giles sighed. "Pubs. I vaguely remember them." He allowed himself a moment to consider it, then shook his head. "Sorry, but there's a ritual out at the Academy I have to attend. Start of term blessing. I'll be there all Sunday. With children and parents everywhere."

"Don't worry, they still have a library. I'm sure you can take refuge there."

"And scare the librarian?" Giles smirked sadly. "You know, I never thought I'd miss Sunnydale High School for the peace and quiet."

Sunday... was much as he expected it to be. Back at school, and expected to have all the answers.

He returned to Bath with great relief.


	5. Chapter 5

On Monday, Vi's disciplinary committee was ready to meet.

"They have requested that you attend," Ms Wayland informed him that morning.

"The new policies don't require the presence of the Head of the Council at every disciplinary meeting." Giles dismissed the idea.

"They didn't ask for you in that capacity. Slayer Vi wants to call you as a character witness, after her stay in Sunnydale." Ms Wayland saw Giles still looking doubtful, and pointed out, "If it were any other Watcher then refusal to attend for any reason below incapacitation or apocalypse would be grounds for dismissal. Is that policy not to apply to this office?"

Giles sighed. "No, it has to apply. There can't be one rule for everyone but me. Alright, clear my schedule for however long this is likely to take."

"Including lunch? Your friend Edgar has that appointment today."

"He's flying back this week, yes?" Giles considered. "Tell him where I am. Tell him if he wants to meet me we'll have to see when they take a break."

The disciplinary committee was using the largest meeting room, and it was still packed. The dark wood walls were barely visible behind the people lining them and all the tables except the long one for the committee had been removed to leave room for chairs. Officially only those with a direct interest were allowed. It used to meet in secret, with sealed depositions, but the Slayers wouldn't accept that now. On the other hand, neither did they wish to have the details generally known. So, everyone in the room was at least a potential witness.

Giles realised this could take some time.

The room hushed when the Disciplinary Committee came in. Faith had a seat off to one side, next to a younger Slayer chosen at random from those living in London. The three Watchers that made up the rest of the committee took their seats with the most senior in the center of the table. Vi, Fiona and Mrs Rafferty were already seated in the front row. A certain faction of the Council had believed she should be sat in the center of the room in chains, but Giles had vetoed that. Giles had been urged to take a seat in the front, but had waved his phone vaguely and instead positioned himself at the back near the door.

"This meeting of the Disciplinary Committee of the Watchers Council of Britain is called to order. In attendance are Watchers Malcolm Nemets, Jeremy Higdon and Teresa Niebaum, and Slayers Crystal Heilman and Faith." A slight pause. The older Watchers did not approve of Faith's refusal to use her family name. Most of the rest just stumbled on it. The speaker continued a little louder. "Watcher Niebaum presiding. Before the Committee today – Slayer Viola DePaulis, under the supervision of Watcher Amelia Rafferty." Giles frowned at the phrasing. A bit too traditional. "Watcher Rafferty, would you please take a seat to answer the Committee."

There was a stir from people all across the room. Almost all from Slayers.

"Vi can speak for herself!" Someone called out from against the back wall.

There were noises of assent from all over the room, but Watcher Niebaum didn't even raise her head.

Faith did, and also a hand. She used a quick signal from the system Slayers were developing – stay put.

The room quieted again.

Not an auspicious start.

The disciplinary process of the Watchers Council was intended as a fact-finding board. It was not meant to be an adversarial process. There was no formal prosecution, or defence.

In theory.

Today the witnesses learned to treat their answers like a tennis match. There was a question from the Watcher end of the table, they would answer, and then Faith would ask again, with different phrasing, or a new topic. Niebaum, who should have led the proceedings, simply called and dismissed the witnesses. Not quite what he'd had in mind when he had tried to choose a neutral party. Poor Rafferty was up there for an hour, answering questions that started with the night of the killing but ranged back to every aspect of Vi's training, or lack thereof.

And Giles couldn't intervene. He couldn't even give the appearance of it. The Head of the Watchers Council had set all this in motion. The only way for the process to retain credibility was to let it play out.

Rafferty was dismissed. And Inspector Hornbeck was called.

There was a stir again, and again Faith's signal kept it down.

Hornbeck kept his answers to the point, but he was the one to tell the committee everything the police had to say about the matter. That took some time. They were still with him past 1130. Higdon, the man Giles was most wary of assigning to this, asked their last question.

"These murders – ritual, magical, Watcher business. Did you make Headquarters aware of them?"

"I make regular reports to the Council, yes."

"And to the office of the Head of the Council?"

Giles tried to give no visible reaction. He was aware of curious stares. He just waited for Hornbeck.

"The Council Head meets with all the more senior Watchers, to keep up with all the doings of the various departments. Watcher police are a pretty small department, but I am senior within it. He has full confidence in me and my men."

Giles had probably said that too. Possibly more than once. It was a fine answer in the short term, but if someone chose to push the matter, it could look a little odd, when the men in question did not in fact solve the crime. Well, it still looked better than saying he'd sent the man away empty handed.

Higdon made a careful note. He looked up and focused on Giles for a moment. As did half the audience. Then Higdon smiled pleasantly and said, "No more questions. Thank you, Inspector."

Niebaum formally dismissed the man.

The next one she called was Giles.

The chair for witnesses was in the center of the table, set back several feet. There were actually regulations about it. A distance far enough that neither party could reach the other in a single lunge.

The records of some previous Watcher Disciplinaries were... colourful.

"Mr Giles, thank you for joining us here," Niebaum began. "For the record, let us state that Mr Rupert Giles currently holds the post of Head of the Watchers Council. This has been the case for slightly more than one calendar year. Some of the questions we will present refer to times prior to this appointment. In that case, he held the position of Watcher to the then current Slayer, at the time the Chosen One."

"Chosen **two**." Faith broke protocol to interrupt. There were giggles from the audience.

"One of the Chosen Two." Niebaum corrected in exactly the same tone of voice she had used for every other introduction.

"If we're being precise, it should go on the record that this position was in fact rather unofficial. Unless you have... retroactively corrected that?" Higdon enquired politely.

"No. I was not always paid or appointed to be Buffy's Watcher. I simply did the job."

Niebaum stayed as unruffled as she had been all morning. She simply stated, "The committee has questions for Mr Giles. First question?"

"Muh- Mister Giles."

The whole room turned and stared, as Crystal, the other Slayer, spoke for the first time.

This did not help her with her stutter. She continued somewhat unsteadily.

"You knew S-slayer Vi before she was Ch-chosen?"

"Yes, I did. When her Watcher fell to Bringers, I took Vi to America. The Potential Slayers were being protected by Buffy, the empowered Slayer in Sunnydale at the time."

"How would you c-characterise Vi?" Crystal got to the end of the question, put her paper down, and retreated in her seat, relieved.

Giles smiled at her briefly then addressed his answer to the whole table.

"Vi was like every Potential in Sunnydale at the time – very hard working, and very brave." And his answer was very generic. By necessity. He spent a lot of time travelling, and saved a lot of girls, but he hadn't spent much time with any one in particular.

Higdon spoke next. "You call her hard working. Reliable?" The tone was still polite, but the questions never had been.

"When the world might have been ending, she turned up." Giles deliberately looked over at Faith, then back at Vi. The three of them being the only ones in the room with that distinction. He turned back to the bench. "I think that qualifies."

There was a ripple of approval from the audience, and someone started to clap.

**Now** Niebaum looked up. "The room will please be silent!" she said, staring around. Wherever she wasn't looking kept on whispering, and people shifted in their seats.

Higdon shuffled papers and moved on.

"Now, Mr Giles. About the Inspectors evidence..."

"Hey! Faith's turn!" someone called from the back, and others laughed.

"The committee procedures do not require that kind of turn taking," Niebaum corrected them. "Really, if you cannot be quiet I shall have to clear the room. What are all of you doing here anyway?"

"We're here for Vi!"

"Yeah! Vi! You did great Vi!"

Similar calls came from all over the room and Niebaum realised she was losing control. Faith made the hush gesture, but got limited response. The room was hot, many Slayers had been on their feet all morning, and the proceedings had already gone on longer than a film.

Then Crystal and Faith started to beep. Their watches were going off.

"Watcher Niebaum," Faith said loudly. "Respectfully reminding you – lunch break was scheduled for twelve. That's now." She added, quieter, "Pretty good time for it. If Giles doesn't mind waiting."

Niebaum paused, looked at Faith, then nodded. "Mr Giles? The committee will hear your testimony after lunch." She raised her voice. "We will take a short recess for lunch! Reconvene at twelve thirty!" Then she got up and led the other Watchers out, through the door behind the table.

Giles was going to have to go back through the audience. Who were becoming a chaotic crush, half pressing towards the door, the other half forwards to Vi.

Faith stood with the back door open. "Any witness who has already testified, come and sign your reports," she announced. Rafferty and Hornbeck moved towards her, but Vi held back. Faith signed for her, quick. Then glanced over and waved the same at Giles.

He smiled and played rearguard while they ushered Vi out.

The clock in the back room still read ten to twelve. Faith closed the door and came in, and saw Giles looking. "Yeah, well. Close enough." She grinned. Then she went to talk to Crystal. "Crys, you did great."

Giles was cornered by Hornbeck. "Sir. You heard my report, sir?"

"Yes. Yes, it was fine."

"Good. Those, ah, regular meetings... We can step them back to once a month, if you'd like, sir." Inspector Hornbeck grinned slightly.

"I'll have to see about getting your, ah, department, organised more formally. Areas outside London need a representative too. I'm sure it wouldn't be more than a few extra hours a week." Giles smiled pleasantly in return.

Hornbeck kept the grin with some effort. "Of course, sir. However I can be most useful."

The fact was, since Sunnydale, this had rather become the normal way to get a department – do the work until somebody noticed. Giles was all too aware of the shortcomings. He wasn't even sure who else worked in the police, let alone if any of them would be better at the job. But as long as it got done, that was progress.

"Your efforts are noted and appreciated." Giles smiled and nodded. Oddly, Hornbeck did actually perk up at that. Strange how much weight Rupert's opinion had these days.

With some people.

"Ah, Mr Giles." Higdon appeared next to them, eating sandwiches from a paper plate. "Couldn't wait to get at the food, hmm? You realise your statement can't be signed until it is finished. And typed up. Miss Faith was a little premature."

Giles smiled the diplomatic smile – the one that took least effort and didn't reach his eyes. "If you'll excuse me – I should get a plate." He headed towards the food table.

Higdon followed him.

Nemets was at the table already. He turned around, plate in hand, and noticed Giles for the first time.

"Ah, Rupert. Good to see you. Glad you could make time for us today," Nemets greeted him pleasantly.

"Malcolm. Of course I had time. One needs facts before one can pass judgement." One very much hoped.

Nemets nodded and smiled. "Knowing the truth. Basic duty of a Watcher."

"That and bringing discipline to the Slayers," Higdon added. "Or was that the _old_ Council, Rupert?"

Nemets looked at him and frowned. Higdon appeared not to notice.

"Excuse me," Nemets said. "Not long to eat. I'll just take a seat..." He left to find a chair at the side of the room.

Giles attempted to get food onto a plate. Higdon crowded him enough to make it awkward.

He leaned in and spoke confidentially to Giles. "Not going quite the way you hoped, hmm? Not a whitewash. You've given us the venue, now we'll get the truth into the light."

"That was rather the point of the hearings," Giles agreed. He turned away, plate half empty still, and headed for the chairs.

"Oh yes, I'm sure. And that was why you set a criminal up as a judge?" Higdon said this loud enough for Faith to hear.

She frowned and swallowed her food.

Before she could start, Giles replied, "Faith has the most relevant experience of any Slayer."

Higdon laughed. Giles glared at him icily.

"This is not a laughing matter. Faith knows what it is like to make split second decisions in conditions of darkness and confusion. She knows the consequences of letting your guard slip. And yes, she knows what it is like to make a wrong call. She isn't the only Slayer in history to have done that, just the only one still alive."

"Don't sugar coat it Giles. The other thing I know is what it takes to be a murderer," Faith corrected him. She turned to look at Higdon. "I know what it does to someone. What it takes to make that decision. To kill a human being." Faith stepped forwards, and Higdon backed up. "See, you look at a Slayer, and you see someone dangerous. Because of what she can do, you want to lock her down, just in case she does what you're afraid of. But I can tell you, most of them couldn't. It isn't in them to make that decision. They aren't murderers. And you can't see that. You don't know what you're looking for. Me, I see it in the mirror."

Higdon just stood there. Frankly he looked about ready to wet himself. Giles tried to think of a helpful way to intervene, but Faith moved on.

"I know what kind of damage a Slayer can do if she goes dark side. I'm not going to allow that," Faith told him. "But I remember what the Council used to do. Drugs, guns, helicopters – **that's** Old Council. That's what we won't put up with. We can't, we're Slayers, we fight. But if we have to, we can fight our own. That's why we have to be here." Faith stared at Higdon a moment more, then blinked and looked at Vi, now pale and shrinking in a corner. "Not for you, Vi. Don't worry. I just meant on principle."

Vi looked only marginally reassured.

"I take it you've made your decision already then?" Nemets enquired.

"Sure. We've read all the reports already. I heard the story from Vi right after it happened, and everything backs her up. Bad guy doing bad things. Slayer stopped him. No foul," Faith replied.

"In that case, one wonders why we have so many people in that hall. Witnesses, aren't they?"

"Character witnesses, mostly. A few Watchers Higdon called, I don't know what they're here for."

"To testify about the wider events leading up to this incident."

"Wider events?" Giles enquired.

"The trends in training and discipline, the policies and exemptions being handed down to us from the Head office..."

"Mr Higdon, that is not the subject of this enquiry," Niebaum intervened.

"Teresa, you aren't in charge back here. You can at least let me finish my sentence."

"I think I may have let you finish too many already. I trusted you had some point to your questions, but if they are not in fact relevant to Viola..."

"Of course they are relevant! A Watcher is always responsible for the conduct of their Slayer. The hearing in absentia for Faith here resulted in the dismissal of the Wyndam-Pryce boy. Hardly the only precedent."

"You can't fire Mrs Rafferty, she didn't do anything wrong!" Vi objected.

"No, _she_ didn't. Her reprimands are a matter of record. As is the response of Mr Giles. Tell me, how is a Watcher supposed to do their job if any Slayer can just run to you and have it all quashed? And what exactly was the point of keeping Mrs Rafferty in place if you order her to stay at home? Just to have someone to blame?"

The room erupted into contradictions as everyone tried to answer at once. Except Giles. He'd been to too many meetings to bother trying to shout it down. He simply stood there silently, looking at Higdon. Who began to smile, thinking Giles had nothing to say.

Then the room got quiet.

"You intend to ask these questions in the full inquiry?" Giles asked mildly.

"Of course."

"Then I will reserve my answers for there. I wouldn't want to repeat myself. Not that I'd have much new information to add. It is, as you say, a matter of record. The order for new communications equipment to allow Amelia to supervise from home. The note on Vi's file that she should be reminded of the chain of command. My order for Vi's suspension and this enquiry. If you want to try and contradict all that it is up to you. I've no problems with you making a fool of yourself." Giles shrugged and bit into his sandwich.

It was slightly stale. He wasn't surprised. Too much hot air.

Higdon paused only briefly, then rallied. "Communications? You don't think a Watcher should be in the field? I shouldn't be surprised, you 'watch' your Buffy from another country."

"Mr Higdon," Rafferty intervened frostily. "I hardly find that relevant. My Slayer reports to me in person every night. And it has never been the policy of the Watchers Council to take an active hand in the fight. A Slayer slays, a Watcher watches. If they can do that from a seated position in their own home, so much the better. It could put generations of us back to work. I'm hardly the only Watcher facing problems of... disability." She barely hesitated saying the last word, then frowned and thumped the stick on the floor for emphasis.

"Is that all you've got, Jeremy?" Watcher Niebaum asked icily. She didn't wait for an answer. "I thought I was working with professionals. If your questions aren't going to contribute anything substantial to this inquiry I think we can move on. Call the next witness after lunch. I think Vi has the most left to say?"

"But Mr Giles..."

"Has no more knowledge of this than we do. He works from the same reports," Nemets agreed with Niebaum.

Higdon looked around at a room united against him. "I see. This is how it is going to be then. Slayers kick up a fuss to get these 'open' hearings, but they don't mind the shortcuts if they are in their favour."

"There's still a hearing. We can just skip the repeats. Nothing new happened back here," Faith said.

"How very true. Nothing really changes. Decisions made behind closed doors. Wasn't that how it worked for you, 'Ripper'? No formal inquiry, no punishment on record. But then, they never found the body."

Giles looked down and dropped the food back to his plate. He took a breath and looked up again. "No, they didn't find it. Victims of that demon turn to blue slime once it has left. I believe he ended up washed down the drain. There was no inquiry – I made a full confession. But if you think there was no penalty you are very sorely mistaken."

The whole room kept listening, but Giles just turned around and took the plate back to the food table. He got himself a small glass of water instead.

"Well..." someone said, uncertainly.

"Inspector, did you hear that?" Higdon asked.

Niebaum interrupted, furious. "Jeremy Higdon, I think we have heard quite enough. I can think of absolutely no reason to dredge up ancient history at this juncture. I will not call Mr Giles back to testify after lunch. I will call Slayer Vi. And if I hear one more word out of you that is not directly relevant to the task at hand, I will not hesitate to kick you off my committee. I can, you know, if it is unanimous."

"Malcolm, you can't agree with that?"

Nemets hesitated, then asked, "There was a Slayer Fiona scheduled to answer..." he trailed off and looked at Higdon, then finished, "But we have her report in writing. As long as there is nothing contradictory in Vi's testimony, I think we can do without her."

"I meant..." Higdon started, but Nemets turned his back. Higdon looked around the room and found this was a general condition. He subsided. "Right. A cover up it is then." He threw his plate down at the table and stormed out.

There was a moment's silence.

Niebaum looked at her watch. "Alright. I think we all might benefit from a, ah, little break. Ladies, the ladies is this way..." She held the door open and smiled carefully. With various degrees of amuse or bemusement the other four followed her out.

That left Giles, Nemets and Hornbeck.

Nemets stared at the food with brief longing, sighed, and dumped his plate. He left without further comment.

Hornbeck came over to Giles first. "Sir... This shouldn't even need saying, but nothing I heard here was my business. And if it ever was, it was Watcher business. Police wouldn't understand."

"Thank you," Giles acknowledged, and managed a smile. The Inspector nodded, turned, and left.

Giles stood a moment. There were a great many reasons he'd never wanted to have that conversation again. Not least the hypocrisy. Of course it had been police business. They just hadn't caught him.

A figure wandered through the closed door, file in hand, and paused. It probably looked at Giles. The main effect of Wards and Cleansings lately seemed to be to make some of them blurry. You couldn't quite be sure if they were male or female, and their legs ended above the knees. But they were wearing tweed.

The ghost started over towards Giles, so he left. Quickly. Through the meeting room door.

The room was still packed. Or possibly packed again, since there had been time. There were only a few seats left, in the front row. Giles sat where Hornbeck had been, fairly sure he wouldn't mind. And then he dodged conversations while they all waited.

After lunch, the rest was anticlimactic. The committee came back, only a little late. Vi was called, to much applause, which died down at Faith's command once more. Her account of the night in question was short and clear. Nemets handled most of the questions. Higdon didn't say another word. When Vi was done the committee retired to the other room to deliberate. For all of five minutes.

Niebaum announced the verdict in the same flat calm manner she had used all day.

"The ruling of this disciplinary committee is that the Slayer took only those actions necessary in the execution of her duty. She is therefore returned to said duties, effective immediately."

The subsequent cheer had everyone's ears ringing.

The tribunal rose. The Watchers retired through the back door, but Faith and Crystal came over to Vi. As did the vast majority of those in attendance. Giles was crowded into the circle of their conversation.

"Congratulations, Vi. You get to risk your life for the safety of the world. How do you feel?" Faith asked.

"I feel pretty good about it, actually," Vi replied, grinning.

"Rafferty doesn't have satellite. Vi's been climbing the walls," Fiona supplied, then looked guiltily at their Watcher.

Mrs Rafferty apparently didn't hear her. "Well done, Vi," she said, and patted her on the shoulder. "Well done. Well, shall we go? Home might only have five channels, but it also has chocolate cake for tea."

"To celebrate? You knew we'd win?" Fiona asked.

"Well even if we lost, we'd still need chocolate," Amelia replied with a smile.

"That sounds good," Vi said, then looked around. "But how many of this lot can we fit in your parlour?"

"Ah." Mrs Rafferty looked around, getting jostled and using her stick for balance. "Yes. That would be... a complication."

"Don't sweat it, Vi. I know just the place." Faith looked around for familiar faces. "Zakia, Deetta, Elle! We're taking this down the pub. Ride herd on the rest of them."

The girls started to get organised and pour out through the main door.

"I'm not really a 'pub' sort of person," Mrs Rafferty said. "I think I'll head home."

"Oh come on. Just for a little while?" Fiona asked.

"You are of course welcome to go and share some lemonade," her Watcher told her. She addressed Faith. "You will remember, not all these girls are 18 yet?"

"Of course," Faith assured her. And winked at Fiona.

Giles tried not to wince. "Vi. I'm glad this has been resolved. I will see you in the usual course of our duties, perhaps."

"Oh no, G. You don't get out of this. You're the man of the hour, and I know you've got time." Faith grinned at him. Then she leaned closer. "Giles, you haven't had a day off this month. You wouldn't let a Slayer get pushed that hard. Give yourself a break." She looked at him seriously.

He paused. "Well, I... I suppose... I was going to be meeting a friend of mine. For lunch. He's probably gone..."

But, as fate would have it, that was when the flow out the door ebbed enough for Edgar to look in.

He spotted Giles and stepped inside, getting out of the way quickly as the remaining groups left.

Giles raised a hand in acknowledgement, and Faith noticed the other Watcher.

"That him? The Australian branch guy. No worries." She grinned. "Invite him along."

As Giles still hesitated, she added, "Look, you have your phone. You have nothing else to do today unless you go looking for it. And hey, if you feel guilty taking time off, just tell yourself you're the chaperone."

Giles smiled at that. "I, ah, think I can manage without adding to my duties, thanks. Ah, Edgar!"

"Ripper! Finally caught up with you. Is this one of _your_ Slayers?" Ed asked, looking at Faith.

Giles had to think about it. "Ah, yes. Briefly. More Wyndam-Pryce's. Wesley, I mean. Faith, this is Edgar..."

"Ed. Please. I keep telling him."

"Ed, pleased to meet you. We're going out to celebrate. But you two are welcome to come along."

"Wouldn't want to steal Giles away from you," Edgar agreed. "I'd be delighted."

"Great," Faith said, and linked arms with Giles. He found himself being towed along by the Slayer, trailing in the wake of the rest of their party. He finally decided it would be much more effort to try not to go. He could always just leave early.

They waited in groups for the lifts. Edgar started to regale Faith with tales of Ripper's school days. By the time they got in the lift Faith was laughing and Giles was mortified. The other Slayers chatted around them. Then they reached the ground floor, and Ed reached his punchline.

The door chimed.

"...and Ripper was stood there with the snooker cue up..." Ed ground to a halt, harshly shushed by Slayers both in the lift with them and waiting in the hall.

The Memorial Hall.

The main entrance. Giles didn't use it much, but the Slayers...

They got out of the lifts and turned to face the area between them. The central panel, where the names of the dead were written. Some of them bobbed or crossed themselves, as if before an altar. And there was a kind of altar there, covered in candles. It was no-one's job to keep the candles lit, but they were always burning here. The table had appeared to support them when some Watcher worried about fire hazards from the first few. It was full now.

Slayers always came through here, even if they had to cross the whole building and back to do so.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise," Ed said quietly.

"Only walked in with Watchers?" Giles asked just as quietly, knowing the answer. Ed nodded, and Giles explained. "The Slayers... this is their place."

"Not ours," Faith corrected him, "Theirs. On the wall. Every Slayer down since the Choice."

She swung around to nod to them, and pulled Giles with her.

He looked up, but didn't have to read. He knew all the names. Two groups. Two dates, so far. The last battle of Sunnydale – with every girl listed who fell there, before or after the Choice. And the day Los Angeles fell. They weren't quite sure every girl died on that first day. In fact a lot of Slayers had wanted them to write it much later. Those twelve girls bought time, for the US Army, for the evacuation. But that day was the event that killed them, so as with Sunnydale, they kept them as one group.

These were the ones that had died on his watch.

He usually used the Long Hall.

They turned again as Faith pulled him out the front door, and once they got outside Ed started up again with the stories. Thankfully, starting with a different one. He'd have to have a word with him about what was appropriate around young women.

Any quiet words had to wait for the pub, and even then they had to compete with a lot of happy teenagers. Giles and Ed ended up in the corner, talking over old times.

It was a minefield of a conversation. Ed was the kind of man who could run a whole dialogue by himself, given half a chance. But he also had a sense of tact. Whenever he saw Giles go cold, or too quiet, or wince at a particular name, he changed the topic.

After the first hour or so they were reduced to sports, books, and the weather.

An hour after that they'd established that they shared no common tastes in books, supported opposing teams, and didn't especially want to talk about the weather.

Ed let himself be drawn into conversation with a group of Slayers, and Giles sat in the corner finishing his pint.

All in all a typical reunion, really.

As the afternoon wore on the celebration got more rowdy, and Giles had two choices. Stay, and wince at every moment that looked to turn into a repair bill or perhaps start playing chaperone for real, or leave them to it.

He got his coat, said his goodbyes to Edgar, and wound his way through the celebrants to the exit.

Outside he paused, took a breath of what in London passed for fresh air, and pulled his coat on. He thought about going back to the office. Thought of going home. Then he thought about all the other pubs he could be in, and smiled.

"Mr Giles?" a female voice asked hesitantly.

He sighed and looked serious again. He turned towards the voice.

"Fiona?" She stood there looking small, and young, and rather lost. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I am. But Vi... I'm not sure. Mr Giles, she told me not to tell." She bit her lip and looked away down the street, "She told me to stay here. But I think I know where she's going. I don't think she should go back there alone."

"Back there? To the, ah, scene..."

"The brewery, yeah." She looked back at Giles. "Should I follow her? Should I get Miss Faith?"

Giles glanced back at the pub, where he'd last seen Faith doing shots with some of the older Slayers.

"No. Faith is... otherwise engaged, right now." He turned back and smiled reassuringly. "We'll go after her. She just left?"

"Yeah," Fiona said. "Yes, this way." She sounded much relieved, the Voice of Authority safely involved now.

Giles wasn't sure what he'd do for the girl, but that wasn't exactly new. He'd find her, then find out what needed doing.

They headed off towards the nearest tube station.

"It isn't that I don't think she can handle it." She tried to reassure him. "I know she survived Sunnydale and everything. But she wasn't alone. You know? I just don't think she should be telling everyone how fine she is and then be all... all strange about it on her own."

It wasn't far, and they had their travel cards. They swiped the barrier open and went towards the platforms, down the stairs.

They got there just in time to see Vi through a window, pulling away.

Fiona checked the signs, and the tube map. "Couple of minutes to the next one," she told him.

Giles was glad she knew where they were going. He didn't really remember their patrol area, or how to get there.

And no-one knew where he was going.

"I'm sure we'll catch up with her," he told Fiona, and patted her on the shoulder.

So, corporeal at least.

He reached for his phone, but then their train pulled up and he had to 'mind the gap'. The doors closed behind them. Fiona didn't take a seat, but Giles sat down near the door. He was lucky to get the space – they were between the last of the school children and the first commuters. The Slayer moved in close to him.

Giles had his hand on his phone when Fiona started talking.

"She hasn't been sleeping," she told him in the loud quiet voice necessary to an illusion of privacy with this much background noise. As usual the rest of the train made sure not to hear.

"Since the, ah, incident?" Giles asked.

"Yeah. Since that." Fiona kept looking around the crowd. There wasn't any way she could stand without having someone behind her, and she kept moving around to compensate. "She had all this energy. Twitchy." She noticed her own state and kind of grinned at Giles. "Even for one of us. She kept going back to the training room and working the bags."

"A reaction to enforced rest?" Giles asked.

Fiona shook her head. "Two in the morning, two in the afternoon, all the hours in between. That isn't just about being grounded. She wasn't sleeping right. I mean, I don't know if she was sleeping at all. I didn't see her."

Damn. Slayers could push themselves further than normal humans, but the negative effects of lack of sleep caught up sooner or later.

"Was she... were there any other, ah, effects?"

"Well... she was jumpy. Like I said. But... but I didn't always notice what made her jump."

Or couldn't see it. Damn.

They stopped briefly, shuffled a little as passengers sorted themselves, then the train went on.

Fiona was quiet for a while, until, "Nearly there. Two more stops."

Giles nodded, and asked her, "You are sure of where she would be going?"

Fiona nodded. "She said the brewery. Actually, she said about vineyards and breweries. I didn't get that."

Giles sat up. "Vineyards? Fiona, this is important. Tell me exactly what she said."

Fiona looked surprised, then closed her eyes briefly and settled her shoulders back, trained to report. "Vi said... We were outside the pub. She was leaving, without telling anybody. So I followed her out. And she said she'd 'had enough of drinks. Vineyards and breweries, they were their kinds of places. Well she wasn't a'... a cry Chloe?" She looked at Giles again. "That didn't make sense but I think she said that."

Giles became grim. "It makes sense. Someone from Sunnydale... Was that all she said?"

"She said she was going to go put their blind eyes out. I asked who, but she wouldn't tell me. Then I said I'd come with her, and she said no, to stay with the other Slayers. She said not to worry them, not to tell. See, when people tell me not to worry, I think I should worry."

"Usually," Giles agreed. He got his cellphone out. "Damn, no signal," he muttered.

"Mr Giles? Is something... there's something wrong?"

The train pulled in to the next to last stop, and they had to make way for other passengers again. Giles briefly considered getting out there and calling in backup, but Vi was already too far ahead. If it was Bringers... Well, he had one more Slayer with him than he'd had when he was racing them to Potentials. He had a stake in his pocket, and a knife, albeit a small one. They'd manage.

"Chloe was a girl in Sunnydale... she killed herself," Giles told her.

Fiona's jaw dropped, and then she looked sick. "Vi isn't going to..."

"No, not that. She's decided to fight back. Blind eyes in vineyards - Bringers. They have to chant to bring the First." He left off, not wanting to rely on commuter selective deafness.

Fiona finished for him. "She's been seeing things. She's been seeing dead people."

Giles nodded once, and did not look around. He did stand up, as the train slowed for their stop. Mind the gap, then up the stairs and out into the air. No warehouses here, so they still had some way to go. Fiona led.

Giles finally got the phone working. "HQ, Giles – emergency. Yes. Local. The area Slayers Vi and Fiona patrol..." He looked around for a street sign, gave the tube station instead. "We have either Bringers, ghosts, or a disturbed Slayer on our hands. Fiona is with me, she reported this. Vi is out there alone and we think she's been seeing the dead, probably the man she killed... Yes, send everyone. Yes I know it's tea time, just get them here as fast as you can... right. Call me back only if you have to. I'm going in." He hung up before they could get eloquent in their response to that idea, then switched the phone to vibrate, all the while hurrying after Fiona.

He would not admit he was getting out of breath.

"This way," Fiona called back to him, then took off down an alleyway at a trot. A Slayer trot. Giles started to run.

The next few minutes had more twists and turns than Giles could keep track of. It was only evening, but down between buildings the shadows were already deep. Gaps slashed the darkness just often enough to keep his eyes from quite adjusting and he had to concentrate more on footing than direction.

Then they spilled out into a loading bay between buildings, the one in front of them with a door still partly covered in police tape. Fiona stopped in the clear space, waiting for him. He paused too. He tried to catch his breath and assess the situation.

He couldn't see inside. Lower windows were boarded up, and the upper ones burned bright with sunset.

Then smashed.

A tiny ragdoll girl came through the glass, shining shards a halo around her. She seemed to hang in the air a moment, slow motion.

"No! Buffy!" Giles cried out.

Then the Slayer fell, and there was just blood in the dark.


	6. Chapter 6

"No!" Fiona screamed.

The glass kept falling, crashing, tinkling, a spray of bouncing shards glittering around the falling Slayer. It almost hid the sounds her body made when it hit the ground. Almost. Giles knew that sound from nightmares.

Even for a Slayer, some falls are too far.

Fiona ran forwards. "Oh, God! Oh, no, Vi, please..."

Giles still looked up. He could still see her, falling, the light around her bright against the rising shadows.

Fiona dropped to her knees beside the Slayer.

Giles could see her head. What was left of it. Lying in a pool of blood.

Red blood. Red hair. A girl he knew, but not that girl. Giles snapped out of it.

He moved forwards, and Fiona noticed him again.

"Mr Giles, call an ambulance!"

He bent to check for a pulse. Nothing.

Her blood on his hand was still warm.

Fiona reached for Vi and started pulling at the shards sticking out of her. "We have to stop the blood... Giles, there's so much blood..." she sobbed.

"Fiona... Slayer, stop. Leave the glass," Giles tried to tell her. "Don't... don't touch, you'll only get hurt." She still tugged at pieces, so Giles tried to take hold of her hands. She pushed him away, Slayer strength shrugging him off with no effort, but then she stopped. Slumped. Leaned on him. And started crying in earnest.

She raised a hand to wipe her face, but Giles stopped her. "Is any of that yours?" he asked, as gently as he could.

Fiona looked at her hands as if not quite sure what they were, then blinked, grimaced, and rubbed them on her jeans to get clean. Then she realised what she was kneeling in and leapt up, knocking Giles off balance. He had to step away to save himself. When he tried to touch the Slayer again she turned her back.

She went through her pockets, and came out with a stake.

"What are you doing?" Giles asked.

"My job. I'm a Slayer. Something up there killed her, and I'm going to slay it," she said. The fierceness of the statement was only slightly undermined by her sniffing.

"Fiona, whatever it was, it killed her. And she was just as strong as you. Wait for the others."

"I won't be late again! That thing is up there!" She pointed up and turned to look, then stopped dead. "Oh my God, Vi!"

Giles turned to look too.

And cursed himself for a fool.

Vi was still up there, falling.

Fiona could see her too.

"Mr Giles... What... What's happening to her? Is she really... I mean is that the real her or..."

Giles shook his head and tried to think it through. "This is her body, I'm afraid. She is dead. So that..." He'd thought it was a flashback. Call himself a Watcher? He had no business being out here. Too emotional, too involved. Always too involved. "If the First is involved..."

"It can look like dead people. It can look like Vi now." Fiona gulped, then said, "Bastard! Trying to scare us off? Then something is going on in there. Bringers. We have to stop them."

Giles pulled his phone out and flipped it open. No signal. No way of knowing how long they had. He swapped the phone for the knife and tried to think. Something wasn't right here.

"The First knows Slayers don't scare easily. The First knows **me**. It wouldn't do this to keep me away." He looked up again and muttered, "Whatever it did to me, it never managed that."

"It might know you would think that, Mr Giles. If they're opening something in there, we have to hurry."

Above them Vi started falling again.

"Wait," Giles told her, "wait and think." From here it didn't look like Buffy. She had jumped, face first. Vi was facing away from them. So, she didn't jump. "The, ah, trajectory..." They could still see it above them, Vi arching away from the window. Quite a long way away. "Bringers couldn't do this. Perhaps... perhaps another Caleb." He tightened his grip on his knife.

That gave Fiona pause. "The Scythe is still with Buffy, right? In Rome." She twisted her stake nervously.

Vi started falling again.

"This just isn't _like_ the First," Giles muttered. "No taunting, just... just this one moment... as if she is stuck in it..." Stuck in the past... Or blinded by it. If they had never met the First, what would this all sound like? He straightened up and said to Fiona, "This is the classic pattern for an ordinary ghost. Strong personality, traumatic circumstances..."

"So that really is Vi?" Now Fiona was confused. "What's happened to her?"

"Let's find out shall we?" Giles tried to be confident. He knew a little about ghosts. So, start with the basics. "Viola DePaulis! I summon thee!" He paused, waiting. No effect. Still that slow repeat, falling, falling. "I summon you, Vi!" Nothing. "Slayer Vi, report!"

"Oh, you know, the usual."

Giles blinked, and there stood the late Slayer, bloodied but shining.

Fiona said to her, "Vi, you can't just say that. You're... dead."

Vi shrugged. "I'm a Slayer. Dead **is** usual. You've seen the walls."

Giles winced, and had to swallow hard before he could keep going. "Yes... well. I had hoped for a little more detail."

Vi turned away, walked over to her body, talking as she went. "Went out, staked a ghost, saved... not even me, I guess. This is pretty creepy." She stared at what was left of herself, then turned with a shudder. "Giles, one favour? Just make it a closed casket funeral. Really, no amount of makeup is going to make that look good."

"What-whatever you want, of course," Giles stuttered. "Ah, a ghost? You, staked..?"

"Yeah. Not my brightest idea." Vi shrugged again. Then she smiled, reached into a pocket and pulled out a stake. It glowed just like the rest of her. "I guess I might have better luck now." She started forwards, towards the brewery.

Giles interrupted, hoping she wouldn't just start the loop earlier. "Vi, a moment, please. We need to know – other Slayers are on their way. What will they be dealing with."

Vi looked doubtful, until Fiona spoke up. "If you go in there again, I'm going with you. Tell me what we'll be fighting."

Vi stopped, put her hands back in her pockets again. Bit her lip, then said, "Okay. Need to know. Right. Well, I left some things out of my other report. In court today. I didn't mention what happened after. I was... well, I've been..."

"Haunted?" Giles asked.

"Yeah. I guess. I thought... well I thought maybe it was just me. I kept getting nightmares. About the man... that I killed. He looked so... ordinary, lying there. Like Andrew in one of his stupid cloaks. Of course Andrew sacrificed someone too. But we didn't kill him for it, so... I don't know. Everyone was saying I did right, but I didn't feel right."

Giles nodded. He understood.

"So then the nightmares... they didn't end when I woke up. It started small. I'd wake up and put the light on, and I'd see him in the doorway. And then he'd be gone by the time I got there. But it got worse. I was seeing him everywhere. But today, with the trial, I thought it had stopped. I didn't see him all day. Until we got to the pub. I saw him there. And then I realised, HQ, it has wards. Stuff can't get in. So that meant it wasn't just me."

A bit of a leap, but he could understand her wanting that to be so. "You decided it was the First?"

She nodded. "Trying to make me do something dumb. So I..." She looked around, saw her remains again. "Um, did something pretty dumb. Okay, that made more sense before I died."

"You were very tired. That can effect anyone's judgement. You came looking for Bringers?"

"Like the guy in the hood. Like I thought he was anyway. I don't know, it got confusing. Anyway, I got here, I went inside, and there he was. The guy. Dead guy in a cloak. So I've got my stake, and he steps forwards, and I stake him. I mean, he could have been a vampire. You have to be sure. But the stake goes straight through. And he grins, and he's all 'Doesn't work so well now, huh?' But I'm ignoring him. I figure that's the First, and the Bringers have to be around there somewhere. He's talking big, lots of threats, so I just tell him he's incorporeal, he can't touch me. So he says, 'Is that right?' And the next thing I know, **bam**, he knocks me right across the room." She looked up at the window again and winced. "I guess you saw the rest."

"Yes." Giles moved on hurriedly. "You've been seeing him all week, but he only hit you here? Perhaps his power is limited. It's very common for a ghost to have some geographic boundary, to be tied to the place he died."

A male voice behind him said, "Wrong again."

Giles turned and brought his knife up, but Fiona shoved him out of the way. She stepped in front of the Watcher and staked the new arrival in one practiced move.

It went straight through, of course.

He grinned, and idly shoved her.

She went flying. Straight into Giles. He fell and hit his head on the concrete, hard, too busy keeping his knife away from the Slayer, unable to break his fall. The blade skittered away and the Slayer landed square on top of him, knocking his air out.

The black cloaked figure stepped into view and looked down at them.

"You people and your theories. It's like you know so much you don't know anything. You don't know me. What I am. What I can do to you." He raised a foot, ready to kick.

"I know what I'm going to do to you," Vi yelled, then appeared beside him, stake out. The robed one had barely started to turn before she plunged the stake in.

He stumbled, then looked down. "Huh. I actually felt that." He looked up again at Vi, pulled the stake out and backhanded her in the face.

She fell across her own body, lying there in a tangle of limbs.

The dead man came to stand over her.

"Newsflash! Young genius works spell, becomes untouchable! Nothing is ever going to harm me again."

"That was what the spell was for? And here we were worried." Vi pulled herself up again and took a fighting stance, then started circling around him. "Newsflash yourself, idiot, you're dead! Kind of as harmed as you can get."

"Exactly! No more worries. I've got to thank you, you finished the spell nicely." He didn't bother to raise his fists, but he did turn to keep her in view.

"Excuse me? I _stopped_ it!" Vi objected hotly.

"Blood on your hands, use the knife on me? Finished it. It was great. Virtually painless."

"So you throw me out a window? Some gratitude," Vi grumbled.

Giles, meanwhile, had managed to prop himself up on one elbow.

Fiona rolled off him and shook her head to clear it. She stood up, looked over at the fight, then down at Giles. "Vi will keep him busy. I'll get you out of here."

"No," Giles told her, sitting up with some effort. "Not away. Inside. We have to get... up..." he was having a little trouble with that part.

Fiona got an arm around him and lifted, then set him on his feet.

"Thanks," Giles said, a little breathless. He was dizzy and queasy. His head hurt, and he couldn't quite focus properly. He reached up to clean his glasses and found out why – they were gone. Probably joining the rest of the broken glass.

No time to look now.

"We have to get inside, check the building. The police must have missed something. If this is a spell... we should be able to break it," Giles told the Slayer. He told himself the same. They had to at least try.

Behind them the young mage and the Slayer had escalated to trading blows.

"Give it up! You can't hurt me!"

"Me either. I'm dead too, remember? Guess your stupid spell wasn't even needed."

Giles reached the door, and lost track of the fight while they negotiated the stairs.

Upstairs, he found the window, gaping open.

Below them the fight continued.

"Not doing so well without your muscles, are you?" Black Robe sneered. "Hardly know one end of that stick from the other. Without your strength you're just another little girl."

"When I was a little girl, I learned this 'stick' and a bunch of other weapons," Vi told him, jumping out of his way. "I killed a vampire before I got that strength! We'll see how well I can do!"

But for all her big words, hitting him didn't seem to be doing a thing.

On the plus side, hitting her was fairly ineffectual too.

Giles turned and started to search the room, looking for traces of the sacrifice.

He thought back to the policeman's testimony.

"There was a symbol here. Made of blood. The police cleared it off, and Watcher Hornbeck would have known to deal with any remaining magic... But he missed something."

"How do you know?"

"Because that bastard's still here. Show me where, exactly, the body was."

"Which one? The victim, or...?"

"Both, if you know. Hurry."

Fiona supported him and pulled him forward. She stopped somewhere in the middle and looked around.

"Here, I think... Yeah. Right here. I remember those pipes."

Giles closed his eyes and tried to focus. He hadn't done much magic recently, but the basic senses remained. Of course without having paid attention to them lately he couldn't always be sure what they were telling him.

He opened his eyes and looked again. "Nothing. Clean. Alright, the other place. Where he was killed."

"I don't know that exactly, but Vi came out of here." Fiona pointed, and took Giles there again.

He leaned against the door frame and felt rather sick.

That could just be his head, but if it wasn't... "Look in here, thoroughly. Every corner. We're looking for... for something that doesn't fit."

"Something magic. Like Mrs Rafferty's things. Only nasty. I remember what it felt like," Fiona agreed, and moved off.

Her eyes worked much better than his, especially in the ever decreasing light. He just hoped his brain was more use.

There was a clatter.

"What was that?" Giles asked.

"Nothing much. Old tiles, I think."

"Tiles? Clay tiles?"

"No, slate."

"You mean black stone," Giles said. "Find it! Some black gemstones are used for trapping spirits."

Fiona looked at him, then turned and crouched on the floor, searching in the corner. "Got it!" she told him, then hurried over. She held it up where he could see but kept it out of his reach. "It feels... kind of like sick smells," she said. "You already look a bit..."

"Quite. Thank you." Giles peered at it. There were symbols there, but he couldn't make them out. "Let's get this into the light."

That meant going back to the window. Only the highest parts were lit now. Fiona went first with the flat stone, and Giles followed her, trying to persuade himself the floor wasn't moving.

She stood in the window and peered at the stone. "It looks like... I don't know. It looks nasty. But symbols. Magic, definitely. This is the spell, Giles." She turned to him and grinned. "So now we break it."

She turned back to face the window, looked down at the fall.

"Wait!" Giles yelled, realising how a Slayer would think. She had pulled back her arm, the tablet in hand. He moved forwards to grab her, then had to grab the wall instead.

Fiona threw the tablet over the edge.

It arced up, briefly in the sunlight, looking like a hole in the sky. Then it fell. Down. Towards Vi and the robed man, still fighting futilely.

Until it hit the ground between them, and shattered.

Then so did they.

For just a moment it looked like they were painted on glass, and the stone going through had broken them. They burned bright and vivid for a moment, then just faded to black. Gone.

"Vi?" Fiona asked, in a very small voice.

Giles closed his eyes, rested his head against the wall.

"Vi?" Fiona called again, louder. No answer.

"Mr Giles... That was right, wasn't it? Did we... do right?"

Giles pulled himself together, stood up straight, prepared himself to lie.

"We did... alright."

***

The funeral was very well attended. Vi's Watcher, her Slayer partner, her friends. Almost everyone who had survived Sunnydale with her was there. In fact the only one not there was Vi. The casket was closed, as per her request. The readings were standard. And despite the occupation of the vast majority of those in attendance, at no point was the word Slayer used.

The more meaningful part of the ceremony waited back at Headquarters.

In the Memorial Hall, only two candles burned. Tall glass candles on each corner, the kind that burned for days. A third, smaller candle of the same type waited in the middle, unlit. The rest of the table was empty, though boxes of candles were open underneath it.

Giles stood in front of the table facing out, and waited.

The Hall filled up to capacity. It was never meant for meetings, just a place for passing through. Those who knew Vi best had a place, and the rest lined up outside.

Giles spoke, simple words written for him, carefully memorised.

"We gather here to remember. We should never forget. Slayer Vi, Viola DePaulis, fought to defend life and defeat evil. She lost her own life in the process, but her soul..." Despite his best efforts, he stuttered here. "Her soul has gone on to her reward." It was true. Even if that reward was oblivion, it was true. He swallowed hard, turned to face the wall.

A strip of cloth was drawn away, and the name was revealed.

Viola DePaulis. Name and date. _I'm a Slayer. Dead **is** usual. You've seen the walls._

Vi's voice echoing in his mind, Giles froze, staring.

For a long, long moment, the ceremony froze with him.

Then Watcher Rafferty stepped up, took the taper set out for the purpose, and lit the new candle from one of the old. She bowed her head a moment, then handed the light to Fiona. The young Slayer took a candle from the box, lit it, placed it close to that central light. Then the two moved on, and the rest started filing through.

Giles stood still in the middle of it all, watching.

Mourners lit their candles then passed on to the reception up in the largest meeting room. Someone had found it was still booked for use for Vi's hearing, so it was empty. Giles was meant to be there now.

He stood still, the others flowing around him.

Watchers gave him strange looks and muttered as they walked off.

Slayers, oddly, looked at him with respect.

Finally, almost everyone was gone. Two Slayers still remained, one on either side of him. They looked at him, but he didn't look back. They looked at each other, exchanged some understanding. The dark haired one moved off then, took a candle from her pocket, lit it, put it in the next to last place.

The blonde took Giles by the arm.

He looked down for the first time.

She was holding out a candle.

Giles took it from her hand, slowly. Slowly walked up to the table. So many, burning bright against the dark wood table. Finally, he added to them.

"Come on Giles," Buffy said. "We need to talk."

Once they reached his office, Giles went automatically to sit behind his desk. But then he stopped. It didn't seem right. The desk had become a barricade of paperwork, files and folders and random sheets stacked all over it. The desk chair wasn't comfortable anyway.

Buffy turned two chairs to face each other, sat down in one. "Here Giles. Have a seat. All that standing, even I am tired. You realise, everyone thinks that's part of the ceremony now. You'll have to do it again next time."

"Next time," Giles said. "Next time... I was thinking, someone else will have to stand there."

"Delegate? I guess. Might not seem very fair."

"No." Giles turned around, stepped away from the desk. "No, that wasn't quite what I meant." He looked at Buffy.

She looked at him. "Oh."

Giles nodded. He took the seat across from her. "Yes. Oh."

"So... are we talking holiday? Rome's nice," Buffy said.

"No, not a holiday. Buffy... I don't think I'm the right man for this job." He looked away. He'd said it. Out loud, finally. But he'd said it to Buffy, the last one in the world he ever wanted to disappoint.

He closed his eyes and waited for her to chastise him.

"Don't be dumb, Giles."

Like that.

"You're the perfect man for the job. You're, like, the uber-Watcher. You're great for this job."

Oh. No, not quite like that.

"Buffy... Your confidence in me is humbling. But I'm afraid that's just not so." He looked at her and tried to explain. "I did an adequate job as your Watcher."

"You did a great job!"

"You died. Twice."

"But the world didn't end. Not even once."

"Buffy... Fine. You believe I was a great Watcher. Alright." He tried another tactic. "There is a saying that a man will be promoted to the level of his incompetence. Usually used as an insult about managers. But it means something very simple. Whenever a man proves himself to be good enough at one job, he is given another, usually quite different one, until he gets to one where he fails. As I have failed here."

"Giles, you haven't failed. One Slayer died. One we knew. That makes it harder. But it wasn't your fault. You weren't her Watcher."

"But I tried to be. I tried to... to fall back on old habits, to do the job I knew." He shook his head. "I should have called her Watcher immediately. She would have far more knowledge of her Slayer and her situation than I did. She was closer, she knew the area. I keep telling people I have full confidence in my people in the field. And I do. But when I had a chance to be there myself I took it without thinking."

"You were right there, she was right there – of course you were going to help."

"Yes. Of course I headed off into unknown danger with a girl I'd only met once. To help. Buffy, I don't regret risking my life for this cause, but I very much regret risking lives stupidly. As Head of the Council I have teams of people for any task I can think of. I have resources, I have protocols, plans that should, if I have done my job, cover every possible contingency. I used none of them. I followed none of them. I just... charged in, hoping I could help. And I failed."

"Giles, it wasn't your fault. Vi got herself into trouble. She lied, she tried to handle it alone, and that got her killed. I'm sorry, and I'm sad for her, but that's the truth. It wasn't your fault."

"The committee I set up to deal with the repercussions of Vi's actions – to decide what should happen to Vi – they had procedures to follow. There was evidence yet to be presented. Examinations. Several people were worried about Vi's mental state, in both the short and long term. But the committee didn't get to hear that evidence. Because I stepped in and told them to get on with it."

"Faith was on that committee, Giles. Are you telling me you overruled her? Because if so, I'd really like to know how. She always just ignores me," Buffy said. Then she told him, "Faith thought Vi was fine. Not good, not happy maybe, but okay. Faith read the reports, and she was paying attention. If she thought Vi needed something – time out, more supervision, whatever – you know she would have made sure she would get it."

"As far as I can tell Faith decided Vi needed a night at the pub. That... didn't end well." Giles sighed. "Buffy, all else aside, if I had left it alone she wouldn't even have been there that night."

"So she'd have gone back some other night, and you wouldn't have been there. Maybe Fiona would. Maybe they'd both go out the window. If you start playing maybe you can't stop. What happened... what happened was tragic. But I say again, it was not your fault. I'll say it as many times as it takes to sink in."

"And I'm afraid I'll have to keep telling you you're wrong. Buffy... Please understand. If I was Vi's Watcher, my failure would still be... wretched. But. I am talking about my actions as the Head of the Watchers Council. And in that role my failure was total."

"I don't see it." Buffy shook her head.

"From the beginning... From the first time I heard about the situation, the murders, I failed to give them their proper priority. I thought I needed to concentrate on Watchers and Slayers and... and the interminable politics of this office. But the sole purpose of the Council is to prevent exactly the sort of supernatural occurrence that the police Watchers believed this to be."

"Giles, we're **Vampire** Slayers. We deal with an apocalypse here and there, sure, but not serial killings. The guy was a human. We can't do much about humans except call the police. Remember, we even had to let that Rayne guy go the first couple of times, before Riley took him. And we had to keep Andrew tied to a chair. There just aren't enough chairs in the building for all the murderers in the world."

"No, but a ritual sacrifice – a magical ritual – one that might summon any number of things... All I did about it was listen to their reports and tell them to keep up the good work. And after the last murder, not even that. I went chasing off after an accounting error instead."

"Would that be the one that turned out to be Wesley? Back from the dead Wesley? Who we don't want more Watchers to know about? That was the right thing to do, Giles."

"Was it? I still can't be sure. If I'd have sent Faith and Willow in first, would the outcome have been any different? I'd have heard about the fourth murder scene – the one where the police Watcher became certain there was magic involved. The one that made enough of a pattern they knew where he would strike next. We had only two Slayers in the area, quite by coincidence. We could have had a hundred, and all their Watchers. That would have been the end of it right there."

"And having a hundred teenage girls and thirty tweed types wandering around wouldn't have put the guy off trying?"

"Which would still have saved a life. Several lives," Giles said. "Buffy, I'm trying to explain... The Head of the Council has, in some ways, enormous power. And I... I just don't know how to use it." He gestured helplessly. Looked away from Buffy, saw the desk. "You see all this? Reports. All I do all day, take meetings and read reports." He got up and looked over the stacks. "This one, all the data we have about Wyndam-Pryce. Probably both of them. I've barely looked at it. It didn't seem urgent."

"There's nothing wrong with Wesley, and nothing wrong with Wesley's dad that's new or likely to change." Buffy shrugged. "Seems like you can leave that for later."

"This lot is all about Vi," Giles said, hand hovering over a slightly smaller pile. "I've... I've dealt with as much as I could. As I could bring myself to. Funeral arrangements, that service down in the hall – everything sets a precedent. I had to approve it all. Down to the budget for the snacks." He reached over and picked up a single folder, sitting on its own. "And that was probably why I forgot about this." He turned around to face Buffy. "Last week, the Far East office sent an urgent query. They had a situation where action and inaction could both be... well, earth shattering is probably not an exaggeration. I read the reports. And I couldn't decide what to do about them." He paused. "So, I sent it back to research."

"Early on today, Wesley pops in to my office with the final report." He waved it for emphasis. "He says they sent the summary on Monday. I wasn't in the office all Monday. Can you imagine, if that report had said they needed to send Slayers in? There'd have been an apocalypse purely because _I forgot about it_. Because it wasn't even rare enough to... to make a mark, in the middle of everything else." He threw the file down again viciously, then regretted it when it hit a stack and caused a chain reaction. Nothing actually left the desk, but the neat piles became a sea of stationery. He rubbed at his face, looked it over. Gave up and sat back down again. "I'm not competent to hold this office. I'm not qualified. I only ever got the job because everyone in line before me died."

"What a way to be chosen," Buffy said quietly. Giles looked up at her, but she was looking down. "You get handed the power, and everyone tells you that you're the one in all the world with what it takes. That everything depends on you. And it doesn't matter if you ever had other plans. If you wanted to be a buyer, or a grocer, or a pilot. Because you're the Chosen one." Buffy paused.

Giles was feeling very foolish, to make that particular complaint to her. Foolish and selfish.

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"_You're_ sorry?"

"I did that to Kendra. I did that to Faith. I didn't realise I did that to you," Buffy said, her smile rueful. "I thought I'd fixed that."

"Yes, well. Your solution became my, ah..." Giles trailed off, trying for a diplomatic way to say it.

"Biggest problem?" Buffy saved him the trouble. "I'm sorry, Giles. I knew it was big, but... I just left it to you. You were the man with the plan."

"I had a plan. It didn't work out quite as I'd hoped. And I came to the end of it quite some time ago. Now I need to try something else."

It took more words than that. It always did. But that was how it ended. Giles resigned.

***

His successor was chosen, first privately, by the senior Slayers, then officially, by the Council. Some much needed reorganisation and some careful politics gave him a lot more support from the start than Giles had ever had. He shadowed Giles in the job for weeks, but the time came to make the final handover.

With the contract between them, Giles had one final twinge of conscience.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "Taking on this much, after everything you've been through..."

"I'm sure," Wesley replied. "And as you said from the start, getting back to work certainly keeps the mind occupied." He smiled, then asked, "Are _you_ sure?"

"Very sure," Giles said. "I can't Watch when I can't see past my own ghosts."

"Is that why you propose to study them?"

Giles laughed humourlessly. "That would be a reason to study psychology. No. What I need to understand is what happened to Vi afterwards."

"It was quite unusual. Slayers very rarely become ghosts. Whatever spell was worked seems to have been the crucial factor."

"And the breaking of that spell... may have been a crucial error," Giles said.

"I have seen Fiona's report. She wrote that Vi faded away. She believes Vi no longer had unfinished business. Although she seems to have got the idea from Casper, it seems sound."

Giles nodded. "I would very much like to believe that. But... but I don't think 'fade' is the right word. I saw them shatter." He looked distant for a moment, then looked Wesley in the eye. "I saw her spirit shatter. I fear... I believe she may have been... destroyed."

Wesley nodded acknowledgement of this, but contradicted him. "Souls are that part of a person that is eternal. What you think you saw – that can't have been the end of her."

"I would very much like to believe that too," Giles told him. "I know you do. But most of us don't get any revelations from our near death experiences. We just have to make do with what we can learn through observation, experience, and research."

"So, you are going back to research." Wesley nodded, understanding.

"Yes. Not just for Vi. Whatever happened to her, it seems unlikely we'll be able to help. But the other ghosts..." Giles became more animated, "Lately, the Council has been plagued with ghosts. Wards and Cleansings can't get rid of them. I'm not even sure that's the right approach. When we thought they were sent by the First, yes, of course, but if they are Watchers who are just... just without their bodies..."

"Then we shouldn't discriminate just because they're technically undead? I can see how that might work out. Spike was very... well, quite helpful, even before he recorporealised. But I doubt the Council will accept such a radical solution."

"If the research supports it, they should," Giles said optimistically. "And even ignoring that... The Council libraries are scattered, blown up or simply inadequate in this area. Ghosts have never been our field. We know so little about them. How and why some people become ghosts and others do not, how to deal with them, if we even should. And, of course, how to tell if an incident is the First or an ordinary haunting. I think we need some guidelines, some procedures. Some spells that actually work. And I know that in this at least I am actually competent. Even quite good."

Wesley nodded. "I've read some of your papers. I'd heard of you as an expert in ancient artefacts before I heard of you as Buffy's Slayer."

"Oh? You never mentioned."

"Yes... well... I was trying to emphasise my strengths. Wasn't quite sure I could measure up," Wesley said, with a rueful grin that suggested that hadn't changed.

Giles put a hand on his shoulder. "I do believe, in this capacity, you will do rather better. Or I wouldn't be handing it over." He looked at Wesley for a moment, then nodded. Wesley solemnly nodded in return.

He bent to sign, for the last time ever as 'Head of the Watchers Council'. Rupert Giles.

He had the oddest urge to instead write 'Ripper'.

He left Headquarters quietly, slipping out the back way, up the Long Hall into ancient history, then out the arched window, onto the sunlit grass.


End file.
